


Heaven's Key

by kally77



Series: Bloody Soul series [3]
Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-08
Updated: 2013-06-12
Packaged: 2017-12-14 08:16:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 25
Words: 80,845
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/834689
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kally77/pseuds/kally77
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sequel to Fallen Demon<br/>The Slayer and her soulless, chipped vampire lover confront a goddess... along with the highs and lows of an unusual relationship.<br/>Retelling of season 5</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. In Their Hands

When she stepped down the ladder and into the darkened lower room in the middle afternoon, Buffy wasn’t surprised to discover Spike asleep. The previous night had been rough, assorted demons and vampires making it one of the most eventful ones of the summer – at least so far. After the fight, they had spent even more energy in a much more pleasant way; it was a wonder that Spike’s crypt was still standing.

Leaving her shoes behind her, she tiptoed to the bed, hoping despite herself that, this time, she wouldn’t wake him. She always felt a little guilty when she did.

“Luv?”

The half purred, half murmured word drifted in the air just as she reached the side of the bed. She shook her head, smiling to herself.

“Shh… go back to sleep.”

He was turning toward her but she stilled him with a gentle hand on his shoulder before slipping into the bed behind him. With a quiet noise of appreciation, he shifted back until he was against her, and she slid an arm around him to hold him where he was, tight against her. His hand covered hers, their fingers intertwined.

It was always difficult to tell whether he was asleep or not, but when after a few minutes he hadn’t moved, she knew he was sleeping; there was no way he could be silent and immobile that long when she was around if he was conscious.

She loved to curl up in bed with him like this. Often enough, he was the one holding her close, guarding her back in their intimacy as he so often did when they were fighting. She liked the feeling it gave her of being so entirely safe and loved, and rarely if ever could she relax as much as she did when he held her so. But to be the one holding him as she now was felt completely different. It meant having him show his trust in her and finally be able to sleep more deeply than he usually could in the crypt, where anyone – or anything – could intrude whenever they wanted. It meant, also, sometimes hearing the delicious purr that told her exactly how content he was in her arms. It meant saying without a word that she would protect him the best she knew how, as long as she could, and knowing he would do the same for her. It meant, simply, that she loved him.

And more and more often, especially in quiet moments like this one, she felt this deep, tranquil certitude that she would love him until the day she died – and even beyond.

*****

“I can’t believe you forgot.”

As he considered the fuming Slayer in front of him, Spike could only wonder what the hell she was talking about. Rather than asking, he took note that she looked lovely in her summer dress, although it didn’t seem very effective for patrol. She had been hinting for a few days about something that ought to have happened that night, but Spike still had no clue what exactly. Judging by her glare, however, he should have known and would suffer for his error, whatever that was.

He gave up on trying to guess and sat down on the edge of the sarcophagus. He itched to take out his cigarettes and light one, but that would undoubtedly only add to her irritation. She usually kept quiet about his smoking habit, but the disgusted looks she threw his cigarettes told another story.

“And what is it that I forgot?” he asked, trying to sound reasonably contrite.

She sighed and raised her eyes toward the ceiling; and Spike had to fight the smile threatening to erupt on his lips. She was quite the little drama queen when she wanted to be.

“Our anniversary,” she said pointedly, and glared some more.

As he did a little math in his head, the numbers didn’t add up and Spike was left dubious.

“Our anniversary?” he questioned. “How do you figure that out?”

It had to be the very worst thing to say when she glared at him even more.

“It’s been three months since our first time,” she informed him. “I thought it meant enough to you that you’d remember. Especially seeing all the hints I’ve dropped.”

Sliding off the sarcophagus, Spike shook his head as he approached her. She was pouting, and in other circumstances, he might have thought it was cute.

“October.”

She frowned, obviously not understanding

“Our first time was in October,” he clarified. “That’s a bit more than three months ago, isn’t it?”

Her features softened a little and what could have been an apologetic look passed through her eyes.

“I meant, our second first time,” she explained more calmly, and Spike finally understood. He didn’t particularly mind that she tried to forget how badly their first attempt at a relationship had ended; he could understand why she did. Fresh start and all that. Yet, as far as he was concerned, he was counting it all. The good, the glorious, and the ugly. To deny that they had stumbled once, to forget why they had, was too much like accepting it could happen again; he was determined not to let things go that way another time, not if he could do anything about it.

“Right. So. Three months anniversary, is it?”

She smiled and reached to take both his hands in hers.

*****

“So, spill. How was it?”

Judging by the color rising in Buffy’s cheeks, there seemed to be more to the story than Willow was ready to hear.

“No need for graphic details,” she amended her request. “Because, you know, gay now, so not interested in hearing about your boyfriend’s prowess. Not wondering about that. Ever.”

Buffy’s eyebrows rose a little, questioning, and Willow shut her mouth before she made more of a fool out of herself. That had so not came out as she had intended. She had merely wanted to know how the previous evening had gone for Buffy, since her friend had asked the gang if they would take on patrol duty for the night as she had plans. In truth, they had been expecting such a request for a little while; Buffy had commented on the gang’s last trip to the beach on what a romantic place it had to be by night. They had all assumed she wanted to go there with Spike.

Willow had been patiently waiting, since she had arrived at the Bronze, to have a one on one conversation with Buffy, and Tara excusing herself to the restrooms while Xander and Anya were on the dance floor had done just the trick. If Buffy didn’t start talking soon however the chance would be lost.

“Come on… Did you have fun at least?”

Smiling bashfully as she looked into her glass, Buffy nodded.

“It was very nice. We walked along the beach. Also I had taken a picnic blanket and ice cream and… well… did I mention we walked along the beach?”

Willow’s eyes widened as she leaned over the table to get closer to Buffy and whisper:

“You naughty girl! Still not asking details but did you…”

“Who’s being naughty?”

Startled by Spike’s sudden appearance, Willow jerked back and almost fell off the high stool she was sitting on. Vampiric reflexes jumped in, though, and with a firm hand on her forearm Spike helped her regain her balance. He didn’t comment on her near fall as he slipped in on the other side of Buffy and sat near her.

“And why don’t you want details?” he continued, smirking at Willow as if nothing had happened. “Details are fun.”

It was Willow’s turn to blush under his amused eyes.

“Stop teasing her,” Buffy protested with a light slap to his hand on the table. “And you’re late.”

It wasn’t very often that Willow had the chance to see Buffy and her boyfriend interact as such; usually, she saw them as the Slayer and one of her sidekicks. And so she observed with interest Buffy’s mock pouting, Spike’s genuine smile, the way their hands played on the table, the barely-more-than-lips-pressed-together kiss that followed Spike’s explanation for why he was late.

Tara returned at that moment, and Willow’s interest and smile shifted toward her as she wondered whether they looked as cute together as Buffy and Spike did. It suddenly struck her that she was thinking that a vamp looked cute and she shook her head, a little amused. Only on the Hellmouth…

*****

Familiar voices drifted up to her room from the first floor and Dawn jumped off her bed, barely taking the time to hide her diary under her pillow before straightening her clothes with one hand and quickly giving her hair a few brush strokes with the other. If she had known that Spike would be coming tonight, she would have worn something nicer than plain jeans and a pink t-shirt. She didn’t want to lose time and change now, though; who knew how long he would stay?

Rushing down the steps, she joined everyone in the kitchen, smiling brightly as she came to lean against the counter close to Spike. He smiled back at her as they said hi; Buffy, on the other hand, rolled her eyes, but Dawn couldn’t have cared less.

She listened carefully as the discussion shifted from hot cocoa to her mom’s gallery to Buffy’s school projects, jumping in as often as she could, nodding wisely whenever Spike said something. She watched him, also, trying not to be too obvious and not to scowl whenever he looked at Buffy _that_ way, or when he reached with his hand to push a strand of hair behind her ear and caressed her cheek as he did.

It was all terribly unfair. For almost two years, Spike had been coming to their home to talk with their mom and Dawn had slowly gained the right to talk to him too; and then, just as she had thought they were friends, Buffy had finally taken a liking to him and now they were inseparable. Unfair, there was no other word for it. Dawn had liked him way before Buffy even noticed him, and she had never been mean to him like Buffy had. Why didn’t he like her rather than Buffy? So what if she was a bit young? It wasn’t as if he was getting any older himself after all. And he had never treated her like a kid. He even had a special name for her. Sometimes she wondered…

Too soon – it was always too soon these days – he left with Buffy, supposedly to patrol although Dawn suspected it wasn’t all they did together. She scrunched up her nose at the disturbing thought and returned to her diary, where she narrated with all possible details the evening, how utterly charming Spike had been and what an awful sister Buffy was.

*****

_Sweet Bit… Was she really in our lives at that point, or was it more of the fake memories? How could we ever know when she was created, when the memories became real? Not that it changes anything, both sets of memories feel as real; it just would be nice to know, for curiosity’s sake._

_But anyway._  
  
 _When I think back on that summer and compare it to the one before, I am always amazed at the differences. So much changed when the Slayer started returning my feelings. So much changed the months after that, too, but I’ll leave that part to you._

_Some things didn’t change, of course. We still patrolled each and every night. Together. Side by side, although more often than not I’d take her back and let her fight because she could do it and I knew it. No reason for me to fight her battles, especially since I always enjoyed watching her. We still had company from the Scoobies or her Watcher every now and then; they were a tad friendlier than the year before, although Rupert watched me with the falcon eyes of a concerned father. Soldier boy was still around, too, claiming that all he wanted was to help fight demons, but I knew he had an eye on Buffy, and I made it clear to him, more than once, that he would have to stake me before he could get closer to her. I still went to Revello every so often for a chat and a cocoa drink with Joyce and Dawn. But beyond the common threads, everything was different._

_Most nights, we ended up at the crypt after patrol. Watching a movie while we cuddled on the couch, or did more, much more than cuddling. It seemed to depend on the level of adrenaline caused by our patrols; quiet patrols led to quiet, tender evenings, and hard fights to burning lovemaking. We were always well matched in that aspect, I’ve got to admit._

_Her mum had requested that she come home each night, arguing that she had to set a proper example for Dawn. For the same reason, she asked that I not spend the night, although she said it in a far less straightforward way. So, we complied, however nice it would have been to spend a whole night in each other’s arms. Afterglow naps and afternoon cuddles had to suffice. Our self-imposed curfew was between two and three in the morning; I’d walk her home, we’d share a nice good night kiss and say goodbye. There was this unspoken promise between us that when she returned to college no one would keep tabs on where she spent her nights. We had all the time in the world in the palm of our hands, didn’t we? No reason to rush or upset Joyce._

_I’m pretty sure I know what’s in your mind. You’re thinking Joyce was still trying to get between the two of us, don’t you? Well no, I don’t think that’s what it was. Other than this request of having Buffy sleep at home, Joyce truly seemed to have accepted that her daughter was in love with a vampire, and she never broached the ‘normal life and boyfriend’ subject again, not with me, not with Buffy. I believe by then it had finally sunk in that her daughter would never be able to live like everyone else. That, and Joyce liked me enough, I think, to see past the fangs._

_Days were long, when I was alone in my crypt with nothing but the memory of the Slayer in my mind and her scent around me. Thankfully, she came to me often enough, practically every day, and sometimes, we’d talk for hours about little things. Dawn’s latest mischief. The classes she was thinking of taking in the fall. Her plans to go to the beach or to the Bronze with her friends. I’ve never been one to dance – at least, not that kind of dancing – so I’d join them there late in the evening and we’d go patrol after that. I’d always watch her for a little while when she was on the dance floor, admiring her grace and fire, and knowing she was my girl. My Slayer. As independent and strong as she has always shown herself, it’s hard not to call her mine._

_And that was how our first months as a couple went. Calm, playful, and fiery. A lot of love and passion. A few disagreements but never anything important. It was a gorgeous summer; I only wish it could have lasted. But if it had, there wouldn’t have been much of a point to this story, right?  
_


	2. Thralled

As he made his way back toward Buffy after a little pursuit that had ended in ashes and dust, Spike could hear her talking to someone and wondered whether she had decided on chatting up her own prey. It was hardly one of her habits; a quip or two were usual for her, but she never let herself get distracted into not staking a vamp she had been tracking.

Then again, as Spike soon realized, her current prey wasn’t exactly the same run of the mill vampire she had been hunting earlier. Frowning worriedly, he stepped faster toward his Slayer and Dracula.

“Your power is rooted in darkness,” the latter was saying, the intensity of his tone making Spike wonder if he was using his thrall on Buffy. “You must feel…”

His voice trailed off as he noticed Spike approaching and recognition briefly passed over his features. They had met, once, long ago, and Dracula still owed him a few pounds. Although with interest, the sum might be appealing.

Buffy threw a quick glance and a wink in Spike’s direction before giving her attention back to the other vampire; she was too complacent, Spike thought unhappily. She ought to have been more on guard.

“What I feel,” she informed Dracula with a slight grin, “is that there’s one vamp too many here. Sorry, that would be you.”

Stake held tight in her hand, she lunged at him but met nothing but a puff of smoke. She looked startled when she turned toward Spike.

“Since when can vamps…”

“Behind you!”

In a heartbeat, she whirled, thrusting her stake at Dracula again who had reappeared behind her; but as before, he dissolved into smoke.

“That’s cheating!” she pouted, and if Spike hadn’t been worried, he might have smiled. It wasn’t so much that Dracula was really an adversary to be feared; Spike had no doubt that Buffy would be able to stake him without much trouble. His worry came instead from the parlor tricks the other vampire was fond of, and that might confuse the Slayer enough that she would make mistakes.

To complicate things further, Willow and Xander chose that moment to appear, and Xander found nothing better to do than to make fun of what he thought was a Drac wannabe. The look on his face when Spike coolly informed him that it was the real deal was utterly priceless, but Spike’s amusement was short-lived.

“This is not the time,” Dracula muttered, and looked straight at Buffy. “I will see you soon.”

Another magic trick and the wanker was gone, leaving the humans too excited for their own good.

“Do not underestimate him,” Spike warned Buffy as the group made its way toward Giles’ flat. “He has ways to ensnare the people he’s interested in.”

“You just said it was all cheap magic and smoke,” she protested with a small shrug. “And how come you never mentioned before that you know Dracula?”

Repressing the urge to roll his eyes at the tiny bit of awe he could hear in her voice when she said the wanker’s name, Spike grabbed her arm and stopped her.

“He has more than cheap tricks up his sleeve. Thrall, for one thing. On you. On your friends to get close to you. He’s a stubborn one, Slayer, and I have a bad feeling about his interest in you. What were you talking about when I arrived? He was saying something about darkness.”

She finally seemed to understand how serious he was, and he could tell that he now had her full attention. She frowned slightly as she tried to remember.

“We were talking about me being a Slayer. He said… that my power comes from the darkness. What do you think it means?”

After watching her patrol, night after night, Spike had a theory or two he could have shared about what Dracula might have meant, but he didn’t believe that Buffy would be too thrilled by his musings about Slayers.

“No clue. And don’t go asking him next time you see him. Stake first, ask questions later.”

She gave him a lopsided grin and a small shake of her head. “Dress in tweed and I may mistake you for Giles. I know what I’m doing, Spike, no reason for you to worry.”

Her words brought back an image of that insane dream and of Giles greeting him as a Watcher. He shook off the memory and focused on the present. He wasn’t her Watcher, he was her lover, and that gave him all the right in the world to worry. But if she needed him to have faith in her, he could do that, too.

“I know you can take him.”

He brushed the back of his fingers to her cheek and she took his hand in hers, squeezing lightly. Agreeing without a word, they started walking again, catching up slowly with Willow and Xander. The two were still discussing their encounter with ‘the Count’ and it looked as if they hadn’t even noticed Buffy and Spike hadn’t been right behind them for a while.

“If I didn’t know any better,” Buffy said after an instant, a note of teasing in her voice and a spark of mischief in her eyes as she grinned at him, “I’d think you were jealous.”

He shook his head, returning a grin that wasn’t as bright as hers was. “Not jealous. Just worried for my girl. You’re my girl, aren’t you?”

She stopped them, and when she brought a hand behind Spike’s head and pulled him down to her lips, the tiny bit of jealousy that Spike did feel melted into nothingness along with his worry.

*****

It was a bad dream. It had to be a bad dream. In the real world, vampires didn’t slide uninvited into a room and materialize from thin air – or even fog. In the real world, Buffy did not stare at vampires like she was staring at Dracula now, unsure about what to do or feel. Spike was the only exception to that, and Angel. Maybe she needed to work on that rule, because she still wasn’t staking Dracula, and it _was_ the real world.

Far from staking him, she didn’t flinch when he sat next to her on the bed, or when he cupped her chin and gently tilted her head to reveal her neck. She shivered when his fingertips brushed the scars from Spike’s bite a year and half before, but did not try to move away. At the same time though, a small nagging voice in her mind was asking why exactly she was letting him do these things; she couldn’t have answered to save her life.

“You have been tasted,” he murmured, the strangest little smile curving his lips as he trailed his fingers over her cheek.

The little voice was screaming now, claiming that no one but Spike had a right to touch her like this. She tried to protest aloud, but the only word that she could push past her lips was a name.

“Spike…”

Dracula nodded knowingly.

“Of course. I have heard he has developed a liking for Slayer blood.” He paused for an instant, considering. “It is a wonder that you are still alive.”

For some reason, she wanted to explain what had happened that night, how Spike had come to biting her, but once more the words remained stuck in her throat even as the memory flooded her mind.

“You remember,” Dracula breathed, so close that she could feel the displaced air against her cheek. “The bite… the embrace…”

As he started leaning over she understood what he was about to do and managed a weak protest that he brushed away with a touch of his fingers on her face.

“Do not fight,” he crooned. “I know your hunger.”

She gasped as his fangs slid into her skin. The sharp blade of pain tore the fabric time; and for an instant, she was back in Spike’s crypt, back in Spike’s arms, and his name died on her lips as she slid into unconsciousness.

*****

Giles training as a Watcher had been extremely thorough, years of physical training and scholarly studies. But increasingly, he realized that nothing could have prepared him for this. And he amused himself for an instant with the thought of what the Council’s reaction may have been if they had known what he was up to.

The legendary Dracula was in town, and rather than sending the Slayer after him, Giles had placed her in the care of Xander and was on his way to hunt the vampire himself, although with a little help. Better that than to risk her being under Dracula’s thrall once more.

To his own surprise, Buffy’s misadventure and subsequent bite had not changed his resolve to leave Sunnydale. He had no doubt that, had he not been there, the gang would have taken care of the problem; and with Spike and Riley’s help, Buffy wouldn’t have had to be involved.

A small frown wrinkled his forehead at the thought, and Giles observed the young man striding alongside him from the corner of his eye. He didn’t look particularly thrilled by their current destination, and Giles could understand why quite easily.

Riley had found a place in the group after the Initiative had been driven out of town; they all understood his desire to keep fighting demons, and had welcomed his help. But sparks were still flying whenever he and Spike were in the same room; more than once, it had seemed that they were seconds away from fighting. There was more to it than a demon fighter and a demon not being able to stand what the other represented, Giles suspected. Buffy had a role in that, and if he wasn’t mistaken, Riley had feelings for her and Spike was aware of it.

Because of this, Giles usually avoided making the two of them work together; but if he was going to leave, they would need to get over their mutual dislike in order to support Buffy as they both claimed they wanted to do.

“Do we really need his help?” Riley pleaded as they were approaching Spike’s crypt. “I’m sure you and I would be able to…”

“Yes, we need his help,” Giles cut in with a little impatience. “If only for the reason that he’d never forgive us for keeping him out of this.”

Before Riley could argue any more, Giles briefly knocked at Spike’s door and pushed it open. He didn’t wait to see if Riley would follow and entered the crypt. Spike was thankfully awake, probably waiting for sunset as he lounged on the sofa in front of the television. He sat up as Giles walked further in and the widening of his eyes betrayed his awareness that something was wrong.

“Buffy?” he asked, seeming more calm than Giles suspected he truly was.

Giles nodded grimly. “Dracula visited her last night. She is fine but it appears she was unable to fight him off. Will you help us get rid of him?”

Spike had stood as Giles was speaking, and a flicker of his eyes toward the door was all Giles needed to know that Riley had finally come in.

“Of course I’ll help,” he said gruffly. “We just need to find him. Most glamorous place in town, I’d wager. A big mansion, probably. Something posh. He’s not the kind to live in a crypt.”

Spike walked around the crypt as he talked, picking up his duster here, a pack of cigarettes there, a stake across the room. Clearly, he was more agitated than he wanted to let on, and Giles had no trouble guessing why.

“She’s fine,” he repeated, catching the vampire’s attention and holding his gaze until Spike sighed and nodded.

“She’s fine,” Riley then echoed, “except for the two holes in her neck and whatever effects are left from the thrall. But it’s not the first time a vamp thralled her, is it?”

Spike’s head snapped up at that, and he glared at Riley before setting on Giles accusing eyes that nailed him on the spot.

“He bit her?” he growled. “He fucking bit her and you don’t even tell me? What game are you playing, Rupert?”

Giles threw an exasperated look at Riley before answering. Buffy had asked them not to tell Spike, but Riley had sounded all too glad to inform him of this particular development. There would be trouble between those two before long; Giles was sure.

“She wanted to tell you herself,” he said calmly. “Dracula put her under thrall and yes, he bit her. But she is fine and he will be dust before the end of the night, won’t he?”

After what felt like an eternity, Spike finally gave a short nod. The sun was low enough that they could leave right away, and so their hunt started. In less than an hour they had found the castle Dracula had claimed as his own, but it seemed far longer than that to Giles as his companions alternated ignoring and glaring at each other. Thankfully, they parted ways as they passed the threshold and Giles could have sighed in relief at the reprieve.

*****

_I found them just in time for the show, my Slayer’s glossy pink lips closing on Drac’s wrist. It was over before I could intervene, but not quickly enough to prevent the numbness that overtook me._

_Think of it this way. I’m a vampire. Blood is everything for my kind. Everything for me. It’s life. It’s both sustenance and aphrodisiac; the reason why we go on, night after night. While most of the time we feed without a second thought from our victims, the game is completely different when blood is shared between lovers or family._

_I wasn’t angry at Buffy for being unable to resist Dracula’s thrall the previous night. I had warned her, yes, but even warned there’s little anyone can do against thrall when it’s done by someone who knows how to work it. I’ve seen Dru play at it often enough to know. Not angry, really, but I was upset. Very, very upset. She was mine, and another vamp tasting her was an insult to both of us. And this…seeing her having a taste of another vamp? It was worse. Much worse. Because we had never shared this. Because if we ever did, the experience would now be tainted for both of us. Because I had been told about the bite, but this I was witnessing for myself. Because, also, all of it was bringing to the foreground the warning of the First Slayer in that god damned dream, and Buffy’s blood – and reclaiming her as mine – had never felt so attractive._

_Something passed across her face while she was drinking. I asked her, later, what she had felt, and it didn’t make anything easier._

_Then it was over. Both the show and, apparently, the thrall._

_Her eyes flickered toward me as she started fighting, asking what I was doing there, why I wasn’t helping, and at the same time affirming that she was capable of handling things by herself. So, I let her. I pretended to myself I was choosing to watch her fight, as I so often did during our patrols. Truth is, I was still shaken from seeing her drink from the bastard; and if I had jumped in, I might have hindered her more than helped._

_The cavalry arrived as the battle had just ended. That gave Buffy a moment of respite where she didn’t have to tell them everything that had happened or confront me alone quite yet, but from the way she looked at me, I could tell she realized there was a talk in our near future. One of these talk that can hurt – and break – so much. And with the rage coursing through my veins, it could have been ugly. I think we both understood that, and we didn’t need to discuss my need to calm down. I left them as she was walking Giles home, announcing my intention to do a patrol on my own; and a shared glance was enough for me to know Buffy would be at my crypt when I was done with my bout of violence._

_A patrol, in normal circumstances, is business, plain and simple. I have a job to do, and if I get some fun before staking a vamp or killing a demon it doesn’t go farther than that. It was more than some fun, that night. I didn’t care about slaying; I wanted to inflict pain, and that’s what I did. Collected a few bruises, too, but that didn’t matter._

_When I had finally calmed down enough and could light a cigarette without setting myself on fire, I returned to my crypt and we had that bloody talk.  
_


	3. That Bloody Talk

At first, Buffy waited in the upper level sitting on the sofa, then paced more and more nervously as Spike took his time to return. But as she grew more worried and tired, cold settled on her, and she was soon shivering as she hugged herself. She stepped down the ladder in search of a blanket, and found one on the bed that she wrapped around herself. The hint of cigarette smoke came off the worn wool, but for once, she didn’t find the smell as offensive as she usually did. 

Stepping quietly as if afraid to awake someone, she went around the room and lit a few more candles. Spike usually left one or two burning at all times, once joking that there was nothing down here to burn if an accident happened; but the couple that were currently burning gave too little light for Buffy to feel comfortable. She didn’t like much being here alone, especially after what had happened in the last twenty-four hours.

Sitting on the bed with her legs folded underneath her, she held the blanket close with one hand and gingerly reached to her throat with the other. The puckered, half-healed wounds were obvious under her fingers, and she scrunched up her nose in distaste. They would scar, undoubtedly. A reminder of something she really would have preferred forgetting. A reminder not only for herself, but also for Spike whenever he would see these marks, so close to the less noticeable ones he had left on her neck himself.

As she waited for him finally to come back, she could see his face behind her closed eyelids, the same expression she had seen when opening her eyes after tasting Dracula’s blood. The same, also, as when he had announced he was going to patrol by himself. Blind anger, barely contained.

If they had talked about the events of the last two nights immediately after she had staked Dracula, Buffy knew she would have downplayed the whole thing. Thrall, bite, those were the risks of being a Slayer; it didn’t mean anything as far as their relationship was concerned. But as time passed and she thought about it over and over, she started to suspect why Spike was so upset by her misadventure. Vampire and blood, it all came down to that. He probably wouldn’t have been any more upset if she had kissed Dracula. And seeing how possessive he was at times, she had no clue how far his reaction would take him – take them. If he needed that long to even be able to talk to her…

The crypt’s door creaked in the upper level and she could hear steps coming closer, then down the ladder. She held her breath until he appeared, cigarette dangling from his lips, and watched him shrug the duster off. Her eyes widened at the sight of his bloodied knuckles, of the faint bruise on his left cheek, and a spot of darker red on the front of his shirt where the fabric seemed to have been ripped by claws.

“What happened?” she asked urgently and began to rise. “Are you hurt?”

He waved her off impatiently until she sat again. “’M fine,” he muttered. “Will be as good as new by morning.”

He eyed her warily, and she could almost feel the weight of his gaze on her neck. She fought back the urge to cover the bite marks.

“What about you? Feeling all right?”

His voice was ice, drowning all concern that his words suggested. She shook her head; this wouldn’t do. If they started like this, it would end badly.

“We need to talk,” she said with as much strength as she could summon.

“I thought that’s what we were doing.”

She considered him for a moment, becoming aware of the tension reflected in his whole body as he brought the cigarette to his lips and took it away again. She was just as tense, she realized. And with both of them on the edge as much as they were, it would be too easy to stumble and fall.

“It looks to me like we’re getting ready for some massive misunderstanding. And that’s the last thing I want.”

He seemed to deflate a little at her words, weariness slowly replacing tension.

“Last thing I want too,” he agreed, somewhat grudgingly. “We’ve had too many of those already.”

She nodded, a little sad at the memory of their previous clashes, especially the first one.

“So, how do we do that then?” he sighed as he ground out whatever remained of his cigarette in a chipped glass bowl.

Letting the blanket slide off her shoulders, she raised a hand toward him.

“Come here,” she requested. “Sit with me.”

There were remnants of reluctance in his attitude as he approached, as if he didn’t feel like abandoning his pacing, but he did climb on the bed and sat, cross-legged, in front of her. She reached toward him and took his hand, uncurling the tight fist until she could weave her fingers with his.

“What now?” he asked, and she was pleased that he didn’t sound as tense as before.

“Now, we talk,” she declared, and winced in advance at what she was about to say. In her own head, it sounded terribly cliché, but what else could they do? “Open hearts and honest answers to whatever questions. And we don’t shout or get mad or leave until everything’s OK.”

It was hard to tell, simply from looking at him, what he thought of her suggestion, and Buffy was getting more nervous by the second.

“Do you think… Can everything be OK again?”

For the first time that night, he smiled at her. It was barely a tug at his lips, but it was enough that she wanted to sigh in relief.

“I don’t see why not. You wanna start the ball and tell me what’s in your mind?”

What was in her mind? That was a question easy enough to answer, although with a question of her own.

*****

“Are you angry?”

She didn’t leave him the time to answer and immediately babbled on.

“Of course you’re angry. I’d be angry too if you went and got yourself bitten by the first vamp. Do vamps bite each other? What happens…”

Despite everything, Spike could feel the tension melting inside him as he listened to her nervous rant. Reaching out toward her, he laid a single finger across her lips, silencing her.

“I’m not angry. At least, not with you. I know there’s nothing you could have done.”

_Except listen to my warning_ , he finished silently. He ought to have been more persuasive when telling her to be wary of Dracula.

His hand dropped from her lips to her knee and he took her free hand in his.

“Not with me, but you _are_ angry,” she insisted.

“I am,” he sighed. “Angry. Jealous. Worried. Confused. Afraid.”

“Afraid?” she repeated, surprised. “Of what?”

Even with her request to talk this out thoroughly, Spike was reluctant to answer this question. It would have meant telling her about his dream, about the first Slayer and her grim warning, and that was the last thing he wanted to do. He had no intention whatsoever of hurting her, therefore the dream was just that, a fantasy, and not a prediction of what would happen. Nothing to be afraid of, so he changed the subject:

“What happened when you drank his blood?”

For a second, he thought that she wouldn’t answer as she clearly hesitated; when she finally talked, she started tiptoeing around the subject.

“It wasn’t really drinking,” she argued weakly. “It was just a taste really, and I didn’t…”

He squeezed her hands in his and clucked his tongue chidingly. A pang of guilt swept through him as he requested more details when he hadn’t been entirely truthful himself, but he pushed the feeling away and insisted.

“Buffy. Answer me.”

She closed her eyes, and he wondered whether it was to find the memory back or to avoid looking at him.

“I saw… I felt… I don’t know if I can explain it.”

“Try.”

She took a deep breath and her eyes opened again, unfocused; it wasn’t him she was seeing, he was ready to bet on that.

“It was as if something resonated in me. As if my body recognized the blood. And it made me feel so… strong. No, not strong, that’s not it. More like… like there was nothing I couldn’t do, no fight I couldn’t win. Because I was born for this fight and it’s in my blood.”

She paused, looked at him almost as if she were afraid of what he would think.

“Does it make any sense?”

For an instant, Spike tried to remember his last seconds as a human, how the thick blood sliding down his throat had felt. He couldn’t recall any feeling such as the ones she had described. He had never heard either that the blood of a vampire given to a human during a mating ritual did anything more than make them grimace in disgust. But at the same time, it wasn’t hard to imagine that whatever made Buffy the Slayer would recognize the very thing it had been created to destroy.

“It does make sense,” he replied at last, and kept it at that.

Silence stretched between them as they reflected on what had been revealed. The flame of one of the candles wavered and died, slightly increasing the darkness surrounding them. It didn’t bother Spike; darkness was his element. It seemed that it affected Buffy however, even as used to the night as she was. She shivered, so faintly that Spike might not have noticed if he hadn’t been holding her hands. In response, he pulled her off her knees and on his lap, letting go of her hands so that he could hold on to her.

She rested her cheek onto his shoulder, and suddenly all he could see were the still red wounds marring her throat. Slowly, carefully, he brushed his lips on one, then the other, soft kisses that elicited a quiet sigh from Buffy. Unable to stop there, he bestowed the same attention to the scars from the Master’s bite, and, finally, to his own marks; she shivered at this last touch, and an odd sense of pride flared in Spike for an instant.

“If it’s any consolation,” she murmured, “when he bit me…”

She hesitated and even paused, drawing a shaky breath before she continued, a little flustered.

“… it felt… like it was you. It reminded me of when you… when you bit me.”

Unsure about how to answer to that, or even about what to think of it, Spike remained quiet, and the silence seemed to make Buffy uncomfortable as she struggled to fill it.

“Maybe it’s because of that thrall. I mean, being under the thrall this time reminded me of the first time. Unconsciously. That’s probably…”

Without pausing to think, Spike put an end to the lie by omission that had lasted too long already.

“Luv? I don’t have a thrall.”

She pulled back a little so that she could stare at him as if he had just announced he wasn’t a vampire.

“But you did thrall me,” she protested, frowning. “You were so weak, you could never have bitten me otherwise.”

He shook his head, wondering what proof he could give that he was unable to do something.

“There was no thrall. Maybe you were tired or I took you by surprise or something else happened. But you weren’t under thrall when I… took your blood.”

‘When I nearly killed you’ was what he had been about to say, but he changed his mind at the last second. Better not to remind her of that. Especially when she seemed to be struggling with the idea that nothing had prevented her from fighting back.

*****

_I wanted to talk about that too, since we were playing the talking game. Ask her about her state of mind that night, more than a year before. I suspected – I think I mentioned it, already? Or maybe not. You let me ramble on and on and I forget what I’ve said and when. It’s downright confusing. And what was I saying again anyway?_

_Oh. Right._

_I suspected, as I was saying, that she had been too burned out to fight me off on that fateful night – listen to me! I’m beginning to sound as pompous as you! You’re a bad influence, you know?_

_So. Angel leaving her, Faith switching sides, the Council playing more against her than with her, the Ascension only hours away… It was a lot for her to bear; maybe it was too much. Maybe she just let the bite happen, and gave up on life for a moment. A bit of that death wish Slayers seem to encounter sooner or later. Or at least that’s what I think._

_She didn’t want to talk about it, said she needed to think before we did, and so we dropped the subject. We cuddled for a while, started kissing, and one thing leading to the other, we were soon naked and…_

_Still no graphic details? Spoilsport. How come you can tell about our lovemaking and I can’t? I’m better placed than you to know what it’s like after all, I’m sure I could give much better descriptions than…_

_What do you mean, I have a foul mouth? I bloody well do not!_

_I bet you’re just afraid that once they hear me tell about it they won’t care so much about your prose anymore. You know they’re waiting for these bits, don’t you?_

_Oh, calm down, I’m getting to it. Give me a minute to bask in the memories, would you?_

_Right. So, we made love. And after that came one more bit of truth, one that really took me by surprise._

_It was way past our usual curfew, only a couple hours or so left before sunrise would begin to announce itself on the horizon. On this one time, I don’t think either of us worried much about Joyce’s request. We were taking care of us, of our relationship, and that mattered more than anything else did at that moment._

_We were on our sides, chest to chest, legs entangled and arms woven around each other. I thought she was asleep, her heartbeat was strong and regular against me. But she startled me when she started talking. Calm and quiet, she was, and I think – no, I’m sure – she had been thinking about whether to tell me or not, and that having taken her decision she was at peace._

_She told me about her solitary hunts. Told me that, most nights, after I had walked her home, after she had gone to bed, even, she would go out again and slay. Not patrol as we did together, but rather hunt. Hunt vamps like vamps hunt humans. Something primal. Something, she said, that reminded her of the first Slayer._

_It was more fuel for my thoughts, but once more, I kept my musings quiet. She wasn’t ready to discuss it, she had said so herself. She just wanted me to be the first to know what she had kept a secret so far. She told Giles the next day, when she asked him to resume training her._

_I’d lie if I said I liked the idea of these ‘hunts’. It sounded dangerous, too dangerous. But what could I do about it? Start lurking under her window and stalk her when she went out by herself?_

_OK, so I did just that. What would you have done in my place?_


	4. Sisters

“And she completely ruined my training yesterday. Did I tell you about that?”

Fighting to suppress a chuckle, Spike nodded. “You might have mentioned it last night, once or twice.”

By the sheepish look Buffy gave him, she realized it had been more than that. She was taking this whole thing about developing her Slayer abilities and understanding them better very seriously; too much so, it seemed at times. And each time she told him about a new technique or move that Giles was teaching her, Spike felt that awful pang of regret that he wasn’t the one helping her train. He had never liked to share, and even sharing her with her Watcher was grating on his nerves. At least they had this, patrol and research of a new gang in town; something they could do together.

“And you know what she suggested tonight? That you be the one to come and babysit her.”

Apparently, the rant about Dawn wasn’t over and Spike wasn’t the only one who had difficulties sharing.

“She did?” he grinned, and stopped Buffy by pulling her body flush to his. “Is that jealousy in your voice, Slayer?”

She looked a little annoyed when she freed herself from his hold and started walking again, a little faster, now.

“Jealous?” she snorted. “That Dawn has a crush on you? At times I forget how full of yourself you are.”

He knew the words were meant to tease, just as his own had been, but somehow, they stung and he bit back an angry retort. He had heard the same from others and been made to feel too often in the past that he simply wasn’t enough; these few words were coming close to reopening old wounds. Why now, though? They had bickered and teased each other back and forth for months and he had never felt as raw before as…

A glimpse of the silver scars on her throat, the flash in his mind of her lips on pale skin that wasn’t his own, and he knew why now, of all times, his insecurities were resurfacing.

“Come on, I’d prefer she had a crush on Xander or even Riley rather than my boyfriend,” she continued, oblivious to both his unease and the fact that she was proving the jealousy she had been denying.

“At least she has good taste,” he replied, trying to sound like his insufferable self and failing to his own ears.

Buffy looked back at him curiously, and he wondered if she had any clue about what was going on in his mind. Judging by the way she reached out to him and stroked his arm lightly, he was all too transparent.

“That she does,” she agreed with a little smile. “Doesn’t mean I have to like it.”

Before she could question whatever it was that she had seen or heard in him, he pushed onward with what he hoped would be safer grounds for discussion.

“Yeah, she might be a bit young for the Big Bad gig. But there’s…”

“Do you think that’s why I love you? For the bad boy image?”

Her question left him speechless. He was still sometimes surprised by the simple fact that she loved him, and he had never really questioned the why of the matter.

“Because, that’s not it. You’re a lot more than that to me.”

There was a quiet, joyful light, in Buffy’s eyes, in all of her face that made her words even stronger. Again, Spike’s mind betrayed him, and Dracula resurfaced. He hated himself for not being able to let go of what had happened, especially after Buffy’s insistence that they talk about it and clear things up between them. But the truth was there; it would take more than a few words and a few days for him to forget.

“How about keeping this talk for another time?” he suggested with a forced smile. “Let’s find your vamps and put an end to this chase.”

She nodded her assent, but he could tell that she was a little disappointed by his reaction. Of course, she would be. He was an idiot for not holding on to what she was offering when he had craved it for so long. He was an idiot, but he couldn’t help it.

*****

Harmony was still seething that her plan had not worked, and the mutterings from the minions behind her were not helping. They knew how to complain, but she didn’t see any of them trying to come up with a carefully designed plan to take out the Slayer. She was in charge. She had made a small mistake, but she was determined to continue and not let this misstep take her down. She would be the one to rid Sunnydale of the Slayer, and then the Hellmouth would be hers. All she needed was a new plan.

Things hadn’t been easy, since she had been turned. How was a fledgling supposed to learn the ropes when her sire had been dusted right after turning her? For a while, she had tried to find a mentor, someone to take her under their protective wing and show her what being a vampire was all about. She remembered asking Spike; his reputation at the time was much different from what it was now.

Demons used to speak of him with respect and fear, murmured that he had killed two Slayers already and that it wouldn’t take much longer before he did in the third one. That was how she wanted demons to speak of her, with admiration. Not like they spoke of Spike today, anger and snickers at him being the Slayer’s lapdog. In retrospect, she was lucky that he hadn’t wanted to become her guide. She was much better off by herself, especially since she had found out exactly who she was, deep down, and was quite happy with her discovery.

“I’m hungry,” a disgruntled minion complained behind her. “Can I eat her?”

Rolling her eyes at the annoyance that lesser creatures could be, Harmony turned to look at what he was speaking about. A kid was crossing the graveyard, half running as she darted worried glances around her. Not just any kid, at that.

“No, you can’t eat her,” Harmony replied in a long-suffering tone. “She’s the Slayer’s sister, and we don’t need…”

Her eyes widened as the beginning of a new plan emerged, and she grinned that evil smirk she had been practicing for weeks – and wasn’t that a pain when you had no reflection to check the results of your efforts?

“New plan,” she announced gleefully. “Mort, Cyrus, go grab that girl. We’re going to use her as bait to make the Slayer come to us. And then… we’ll kill her.”

Unlife was good, she thought as she watched the minions obey her orders. She would soon be the Master of Sunnydale, and then the world would be hers.

*****

There were times when Buffy wondered what it would have been like if she had been an only child. Surely, it would have made things easier. No need, then, to negotiate with her mom to simply be able to do her job; no need to beg her friends to baby-sit on a couple hours notice; and no coming home to discover that her new and pathetic enemy had been granted access to their house by her brat sister.

But when she called said sister’s name to give her the tongue-lashing of her life – and for once Spike seemed ready to help her rather than defend Dawn – there was no answer. It was soon apparent that she had left the house, and Buffy could have screamed in frustration. Better frustration than fear.

“This time mom is going to kill me.”

“She will do no such thing,” Spike assured her. “At least, not if we get her back home before your mum returns.”

She could appreciate his efforts to lighten up the mood, but it didn’t work so well when he seemed just as worried.

“We can start with her friends’ homes,” she suggested. “I can call and…”

“No need. I can track her.”

On her questioning look, Spike tapped his nose with a finger, and Buffy made a face. She found it quite disturbing that his sense of smell was that good, and she usually tried not to remember it.

“Xander, Anya, do you mind staying here? Willow and Tara should arrive soon.”

“No problem,” Xander replied, still looking a little embarrassed at what had happened under his watch. “We’ll make sure your house is Harm free by the time you come back.”

The beginning of the hunt for Dawn was smooth, if a little nerve wrecking when Buffy realized they were headed toward Spike’s cemetery.

“Does she know where your crypt is?” she asked, beginning to guess where Dawn might be hiding.

“She’s never been there,” Spike said, and he sounded a little reluctant. “But she knows where it’s at.”

Buffy took three deep breaths to calm herself before she asked: “And she knows that how?”

“I told her. She wanted to know in case something happened and she needed to get me.”

Shaking her head, Buffy abstained from making a comment. This just confirmed to her what they had been talking about earlier, Dawn’s schoolgirl crush and Spike’s soft spot where she was concerned. Why couldn’t she have something – or in this case someone – entirely hers? Why did she have to share with a selfish kid who wasn’t even able to realize how dangerous…

“Wait.”

She stopped, looking back at Spike who had paused a couple of yards behind her. She didn’t like one bit the way he was frowning.

“What’s going on?”

“Her trail changes here. People joined her. And she was afraid.”

“People?” Buffy repeated blankly.

”Vamps.”

Suddenly, Buffy wasn’t annoyed or angry with Dawn anymore. She was only terribly scared.

*****

When the first vampire exploded in a cloud of ashes revealing Buffy and Spike behind him, Dawn could have wept in relief. As it was, she merely closed her eyes as her sister commanded and listened to the fight going on around her. Cold hands freeing her from her bonds startled her, but she soon discovered they belonged to Spike; and even though he smiled at her, she could see he was upset and she felt bad about it. She had only meant to go to his crypt and talk to him since everybody else was siding with Buffy, but she now realized it hadn’t been such a good idea.

Surprisingly enough, they didn’t scold her as much as she had expected as they took her home, and Buffy was even decent enough not to mention the whole thing to their mom. But Dawn noticed, in the days that followed, that Spike was now more distant with her, and she didn’t dare say anything about it.

*****

__  
I had decided to try and not be as nice to the Bit, hoping that she’d find someone else to have a crush on. Not because that was what Buffy wanted; she hadn’t asked, but it was easy to tell. Rather, I did it because I could see how dangerous it was for Dawn to think of me as someone to go to when she was upset. She should never have come to associate a vampire – any vampire – with safety. She shouldn’t have been so casual about vamps, period. But as time passed, it became harder and harder not to follow my instincts and see her as a kid sister, and it wasn’t long until I gave up on my resolve.

_It had been the first time Dawn ran away from home. It wasn’t going to be the last. Nasty habit, that, and it’s not that hard to understand where she got it from. She was crushed when Buffy ran away, the summer after the Angelus debacle. I was drowning in my own guilty soul at the time but I remember. I remember Joyce’s sorrow, and the quieter words of Dawn asking me, every so often from behind the kitchen door, if I had seen Buffy and if I knew when she’d be back. For some reason, she had this strange notion that I was Buffy’s friend and that I knew where she was. I never lied outright to her, but I never told her I didn’t know where the Slayer was, either. Why scare her even more when a few ‘she’s fine and she misses you’ made her feel better? Even Joyce gave me thankful smile when I tried to reassure her._

_I used to wonder why the bloody monks had given me so many memories of Dawn. Why bother when they had Buffy to protect her? I know, now, of course. I understand. Second line of defense in case Buffy…_

_Right. Let’s move on._

_Thankfully, Dawn’s habit of running off when she was upset got better with time. And not so thankfully, it was replaced by other kinds of habits, more ‘sticky fingers’ than ‘itchy feet’. But we’re nowhere near that part of the story, are we?_

_It’s funny. I listen to you, remembering the events of that night, and I just realized something. These ladies weren’t the only ones searching for who they were exactly. I was, too._

_Lets see… Three years before that time? I was The Big Bad, arriving on the Hellmouth with my dark princess in tow, ready to add a third Slayer’s death to my name in the Watchers’ history books. I was a demon, pure – or not so pure – and simple._

_Two years before… A souled vamp, pathetically whiny for a while, desperately convinced that he had to help the good guys to be worthy of his continued existence._

_A year and half… Unsouled and quite happy to be, but still playing with the white hats just to be close to the Slayer, even though she loved someone else._

_And now… What was I? Still a demon, certainly, the blood diet didn’t leave much doubt about that. Still on the side of the good guys. Chipped and utterly unable to directly hurt any human if I had wanted to. Head over heels in love, and lucky enough to be loved back._

_Was it enough? I’m not sure it was. I’m not sure being a good guy just because your girl needs you to be means anything. I still craved blood, still wanted the chip out, still had these half plans of hunting humans – wrongdoers only, of course, I wasn’t suicidal, but a human hunt would have been so much more satisfying than hunting other demons. Rejected by my own kind and welcomed by what should have been my prey… there is some humor in that, you have to admit. Although it’s easier to see in hindsight, I didn’t find it so funny at the time.  
_


	5. Two halves, One Heart

At that moment, Buffy very much envied Spike’s lack of need for air. Not breathing would have been a relief as the group patrolled through the town’s garbage in search of the demon that had attacked Giles earlier. Right then, Willow’s nose removal spell didn’t seem such a bad idea after all.

“Oh! Look at that!”

Buffy raised her weapon at Spike’s exclamation and quickly turned toward him. Her new training was paying off; she could feel it. She was ready to fight, entirely focused on her senses and instinct, aware that the Scoobies were closing rank behind her, prepared to support her when she attacked the… armchair?

“Clearly, it’s an evil piece of furniture,” Riley grumbled behind her, and Spike shot him one of his nastiest glares.

“Stay on your guards,” she advised the Scoobies, before stepping closer to where Spike was inspecting the battered armchair. It was missing a leg, and the fabric of the seat was torn.

“Spike? What are you doing?”

He looked at her as if she had asked him what color was blood.

“Finding new furniture,” he explained nonetheless, and resumed his inspection of the piece. Buffy wasn’t sure whether to laugh, be angry, or incredulous.

“You realize that, for one thing, it’s trash, and for the other we’re in the middle of a patrol, right?”

“I can fix it!” he defended himself and the armchair. “Bet you never noticed most of what’s in the crypt comes from here.”

She scrunched up her nose in distaste. Most of the furniture came from the city dump? But she had been naked on just about every piece of furniture he owned!

“That’s the most…”

She never got to finish her thought. Behind her, Willow’s voice had risen, calling her attention to the approaching demon. But before Buffy could do more than raise her axe, a flash of light shot from the staff Toth carried, coming straight at her. Caught off guard, she was about to be struck by the light when Spike pushed her out of the way and was hit in her place.

When Buffy straightened up again, her first glance was toward Spike; and even as she checked that he was still there and not dust, she chastised herself for not focusing on their enemy first. It wouldn’t do Spike much good if she got herself killed. She then turned to Toth, intending to kick his demony ass back to whatever hell it had come from, but there was no trace of him.

“Where is he?” she asked the gang as she helped a stunned Spike back up onto his feet.

“He just left,” Giles replied as he scanned the surroundings. “As soon as the light struck Spike, Toth disappeared.”

“You OK?” Willow asked as she came closer and helped Buffy support a still wavering Spike.

“I feel… dizzy,” he answered. Concerned, Buffy watched him raise a hand to his face and rub his eyes insistently. She didn’t let go of her hold on his arm; he didn’t seem very stable.

“My vision’s all blurry,” he complained, sounding annoyed.

“Since Toth is gone, maybe we could get out of here?” Xander suggested hopefully, and they were soon walking toward the exit.

That was when Buffy noticed something. Spike’s arm was warm under her hand; she could feel it even through the leather of his sleeve. Stopping abruptly, she slid a hand to his chest, pressing it above his heart. His beating heart.

“Buffy? What are you…”

He must have realized that something was going on because his eyes widened in surprise and he brought a hand to rest near Buffy’s on his chest. She observed him carefully, too stunned to react and wanting to know what his reaction would be. The last thing she expected was to hear him laugh.

“Can you feel that?”

Alerted by Spike’s laugh, the others stopped and looked back curiously at the couple. 

“His heart is beating,” Buffy explained to them, grinning both at Spike’s obvious delight and at the shock of her friends. As was to be expected, Giles took his glasses off and began polishing them; Willow and Xander looked happily surprised. Riley, on the other hand, seemed far less enthusiastic. 

“It had to be Toth,” he said grimly. “But why would he make Spike human?”

The word hung in the air, and Buffy realized that, like her, Spike hadn’t yet given a thought to what his heartbeat meant. Could he really be human? Fully, completely human? He was the one who voiced the sobering question. Without thinking, Buffy slipped her hand in his, squeezing lightly.

“I suppose we can find a spell,” Giles mused. “Something that will reveal if you’re still a demon or not. Maybe even what Toth did exactly. Let’s go to the Magic Box, we’ll find out there.”

What Buffy found out at the Magic Box was that human Spike, as it was easily proved that he was nothing but human, kissed just as wonderfully as vampire Spike did. It was a little more… tender, maybe. Softer. But she definitely wasn’t complaining. Until, that is, Giles broke the moment with an insistent cough.

“I think it’s safe to postpone finding out what happened to Spike until tomorrow,” he said. “We’re all tired…”

Indeed Buffy noticed that Xander had dozed off while Willow was yawning; Riley had left a little while earlier.

“… and there doesn’t seem to be any ill effects.”

Buffy was all too happy to agree with him. Happy, also, at the light that lit Spike’s gaze when she suggested, a moment later as they were strolling hand in hand through Sunnydale’s streets, that he come home with her.

*****

It was only when he entered the Summers’ house that Spike realized something. It would be his first night in Buffy’s home since the start of their relationship. His first night, also, in her bed.

Dawn was asleep already, but Joyce was still up, apparently bothered by a headache. Her surprise when Buffy told her about Spike’s sudden case of acute humanness was such that she only nodded numbly at the news that he would spend the night there. For the first time since his change in pulse status, something in Spike stirred unhappily at her easy acceptance; wouldn’t that set just as bad an example for Dawn as it would have before? Was he so different now that he was human?

The thought bothered him, and as he followed Buffy upstairs, he lost the smile that had been plastered on his lips ever since he had regained his heartbeat. 

“Do you want first dibs on the shower? I’ll get you some of mom’s sweatpants.”

A quick kiss pressed to his lips and for the first time that night he was alone. For the first time, he realized how excited Buffy was by his change. For the first time, he started questioning his own reaction.

He tried not to think about it too much as he showered, telling himself that he just had to get used to it all, that it was a lot to absorb at once and that it was normal to be confused. Afterwards, as he leaned over the sink and squinted at his reflection in the mirror, he was almost startled by what he saw. The hair, the scar, the passage of so many years discernible despite the still youthful face… this was not what he remembered from the last time William had looked in a mirror. Yet, this was William. 

All evening, he had wanted to correct Buffy and the others whenever they called him Spike, refraining so as not to add to the confusion. As she guided his steps, mindful of his vision problem, he had wanted to protest that he was supposed to help her, not the other way around. But even without trying to fight, he could tell that his strength was gone, along with his reflexes; there would be no helping her in this condition. His elation from before was gone; he had gained from becoming human, being in the sun with Buffy was in itself a delightful prospect. But the loss, he was beginning to realize, threatened to be far greater. It was part of himself he had lost, a part that, abstractly, he knew he didn’t need to survive, but for so long he had relied on his demon’s strength, both mental and physical, that he felt oddly incomplete without it.

Shielding his discomfort with a careful smile, and slightly relieved that hiding behind facades was still as easy as it used to be, he went to Buffy’s bedroom. His attire – sweatpants and nothing else – made him feel terribly self-conscious as he stumbled and bumped into her desk.

“Are you alright?” she was immediately concerned.

“Fine. Just tired.”

He once more rubbed at his eyes, annoyed more than ever by his inferior eyesight.

“You wore glasses before you were a vamp, didn’t you?” she asked as she slid an arm around him and rested her head to his chest.

He nodded, unable to form a word when she was so close. Remnants of a Victorian education he had thought long forgotten were rising, protesting that all of this was hardly proper.

“We’ll go get you some tomorrow,” she offered, and made it sound as if it would solve everything. But then, she didn’t know of the agitated thoughts plaguing him.

“I’ll go take a quick shower. I won’t be long.”

Alone again, he squinted at the room. He had been in there before, more than once, but somehow it felt different. For one thing, the delicious Buffy scent was not making him lightheaded; he could barely pick up a trace of her favorite perfume. The fact that everything was fuzzy, also, made it all seem like a dream. He walked around the room, touching a picture on the wall, the comforter at the foot of the bed, shutting the window and drawing the curtains closed. Everything felt foreign, even the air in his lungs, or the feel of the linens when he lay down in the bed. No, not foreign, he thought as he concentrated on the feeling. More like a forgotten memory that was slowly resurfacing. It was as if his body was relearning how to be human. He could only hope his mind would adapt too.

But when Buffy came back and slid into the bed with him, he kept his eyes closed and pretended to be asleep. She murmured his name, sounding a little disappointed, but he didn’t move and felt a little guilty to be relieved when she didn’t insist and simply curled against him to go to sleep.

*****

When the demon awoke on the litter of garbage, he was alone, and it took him a moment to orient himself. Raw emotions coursed through him, betrayal the strongest of all, except, maybe, for worry. The face of the Slayer danced in his mind. His Slayer. His. Not here, with him, where she should have been. Where was she? Was she hurt? His growl echoed amongst the piles of junk surrounding him.

The hint of her scent was all he needed to set him in motion and he followed it, ignoring the scared looks of the few humans he crossed path with. He was hungry – no, he was starving – but he did not alter his course to grab someone to eat. The Slayer was his goal, he had no time to waste; and there was also an oddly familiar prickling of pain that erupted in his head whenever he looked a little too closely at a human.

Her scent was mixed with several others, at first, one of them confusingly familiar; but after he reached a building, it was just her and the familiar one, no one else. Jealousy hastened his pace, this other scent was male, he knew that much; he soon reached what he recognized as her home. Without thinking, he approached the spot he knew quite well, from which he would be able to see her window. What he saw left him bewildered. In her lit room, just behind the window, was a man. The source of the familiar scent. A man who wore his face.

The curtains closed, and the demon remained where he was standing, staring at the now opaque window. Unconsciously, he raised a hand to his face, unsurprised to find it ridged.

Confusion gave way to anger, and it took but a second for him to climb up to the window and break in. He would tear apart the impostor who had dared touch his Slayer – his! – and then… then he would claim her, make her his again, in her blood and his, like he should have done a long time ago. She was to be his mate, and he wouldn’t wait any longer.

But when he stood on the broken glass, oblivious to the frightened cries coming from the room and beyond, and prepared to jump on the one that wasn’t him – that couldn’t be him – searing pain exploded in his head and he howled in agony. The light was turned on, a glance up revealed his Slayer with a stake in hand and a deadly look in her eyes, and the demon knew that if he remained where he stood, she would kill him. Attacked in her lair, she wouldn’t pause to recognize him, not when _he_ was still in her bed. With an angry, defeated roar, he threw himself through the window. He had lost this battle, but he would find a way. The Slayer was his, and he would not share her.

*****

_OK, this? Very disturbing. I have the memories of both sides, of lying in bed with Buffy and being startled by an intruder breaking in, and of breaking in through the window to get the wanker out of my Slayer’s bed. It was baffling when I was first put back together, and you’re making it weird once more. It makes me wonder what would have happened if they hadn’t reunited my human part and my demon. The demon would probably have tried to get his Slayer back – hell, that was all he could think of – and he would have done anything for that; the human…_

_Why can’t I even say ‘I’? There’s no way I can think of these two parts as of myself. Yet, they are me, aren’t they? The two necessary part of a puzzle. Able to survive separately, but still needing each other to be truly complete._

_It didn’t take very long for the gang to understand what had happened. Thankfully._

_After the demon attacked, – let’s call him William – William couldn’t sleep for quite a while. I’m not sure Buffy slept at all. Neither had recognized the intruder, it had all gone too fast. Joyce and Dawn had quite a scare, too. In the morning, William was under the scrutiny of all three women as he had his first real breakfast in a hundred plus years and then Buffy took him to have his eyes checked. He was dressed with the leftovers from Joyce’s shopping spree a few months back. A right prat, and the glasses would have made it far worse. Luckily they were only ready a couple of days later, and by then I certainly didn’t need them anymore. Buffy kept them though, and for a long time, I thought it was because she missed having me as a human._

_After that, they went to the new Scoobies central, Giles magic shop. Research parties aren’t all that fun when you get a headache after five minutes of squinting. They figured out what had happened eventually, Toth little trick of splitting people in two, and how I had been split into two entities. Both the Slayer and William understood then who their visitor had been, and Buffy got jittery when she realized she had come close to staking me, since killing one part would have killed both._

_A little before nightfall, she left William at the Magic Box and came to my crypt, hoping to find my other half. She did, but she got more than she bargained for. The demon literally jumped on her when she came into the lower level, all too happy that she had come back to him. He kissed her breathless, nibbled at the scars on her neck as hard as the chip would allow, touched her wherever he could, in one word, reclaimed her. I’ve always wondered if she would have allowed him to take her if they hadn’t been interrupted. Might have been one hell of a fuck._

_She killed Toth in a snap of her fingers. It took slightly more effort to calm down the demon and explain to him, as well as she could, that he had been cut off from his other part, and that she needed him to come with her so they could be reunited. The demon did get it – after all, he had seen William so he knew something was up – and he went with her. I think somehow he understood that this was his only chance to have his Slayer back._

_It was never an issue for either part as to whether they wanted to be reunited or not. But once I was myself again, once I had thanked Willow and Giles and was alone with Buffy, I had to know._

_“Did you think about just keeping the human part? It would have been simpler…”_

_“But it wouldn’t have been you, would it?”_

_She had not hesitated one second, and I was grateful for that; but there was something in her voice that troubled me. Then I realized she hadn’t answered my question._

_Of course, she had thought about it.  
_


	6. Headaches

Late night and Buffy was hunting. She had patrolled earlier with Spike, but this was different. She had tried to explain it to him once, tried to tell Giles as well; but she didn’t think either of them had truly understood. Neither had brought it up again afterwards, and she wished they had. She still wanted – no, needed – to know where this desire for a more primal hunt came from, what it meant, and maybe, learn to control it. She could feel the power coursing through her in these hunts, more so than during her regular patrols. There had to be a way to harness it and put it to better use.

She did follow the instinct, the urge, but part of her remained wary of it. It reminded her of Dracula’s words, of the darkness he had seen in her. Could it be true, she wondered even as she shoved a stake through a newly risen vamp’s chest. Could she be that similar to what she had been chosen to slay?

Another piece had found its place in the puzzle, recently, and it added to her discomfort. When Spike’s demon and human aspects had been separated, she had been surprised to find out that she was intensely attracted to his demon part. She loved him, all of him, his human side as well as the rest, but the way the demon had acted, claiming her through each touch and action, had stirred something in her. The same something that had her out, night after night, hunting alone. She was afraid to think too much about what it meant.

Ashes still filled the air around her and she watched them fall down, pale dust in the moonlight. Even without looking, she was aware of a vampire rising only feet away, and of another one just on the edge of her senses. She remained immobile, giving all appearances of being oblivious when she was in fact ready, her grip on the stake in her hand secure, her entire focus on the now approaching fledgling.

So focused, in fact, she didn’t notice the human until he had thrown himself at her prey.

Incredulous, she turned and watched Riley beat up the vamp and flash her a smile as the fledgling lay on the ground.

“Hey Buffy! You’re up late.”

She was up late? At least, she was doing her job. What was he doing there? Before she could ask anything, Riley was fighting again, punches and kicks; did he even have a stake? She was about to jump in and finish the kill when, out of nowhere, Spike appeared and drew the fledgling away from Riley. Judging by Riley’s eyes as he watched Spike pummel the vamp, there might soon be two piles of ashes, not just one. It was past time to stop this insanity.

Struck in the face, Spike staggered back just as Buffy approached the trio. A flick of her wrist, wood meeting a dead heart, it was over, and she was glowering at the two men, neither of whom should have been there.

“Were you following me?” she asked, eyeing both of them in turn.

They both answered no, frowning at each other as they spoke at the same time, but only Riley sounded sincere. She glared at Spike, silently promising him that she’d get an explanation out of him, before turning her attention to Riley.

“You really shouldn’t be patrolling by yourself. I know you had training and stuff, but it’s not safe out there…”

“I know that,” he interrupted her. “That’s why I’m here. To make it safer.”

Spike growled softly and muttered something that Buffy didn’t quite catch, but she didn’t need to know. The intense dislike between these two was obvious, and once or twice Spike had hinted that he thought Riley was trying to seduce her. Maybe if she played that card… Not that she wanted to lead him on; her concern was genuine.

“Listen,” she tried, more calmly, “I don’t want to see you hurt, and that’s what’s going to happen if you do this without backup. You can’t…”

“What backup?” he cut in again. “The Scoobies? They’re children. Liabilities. You? You’re never alone, and _he_ doesn’t want me around.”

“Damn right I don’t,” Spike spat back. “You call them liabilities, but what about you? Scared little boy…”

“I’m not scared!”

A foot separated the two men now, and Buffy’s pleas for them to stop went unheard.

“Not scared? I could hear your heart pounding from a mile away. You do realize you’re like a beacon to everything that feeds on fear, don’t you?”

“I. Am. Not. Scared.”

With that last word, Riley launched his fist toward Spike’s face. Spike had no trouble avoiding it, but he made the mistake of trying to reply in kind. As was to be expected, he shouted in pain and grabbed his head, retaliation against Riley forgotten. Enough was enough. Stepping between them, Buffy turned to Riley, and tried to convey the message that she wasn’t playing, whatever his game was.

“Riley, go home. Or I swear you _will_ have a reason to be scared.”

He threw his hands in the air as he stepped back, shaking his head and muttering under his breath about demons and blind girls. Only when he was out of her sight did Buffy finally turn to Spike. He still had a hand pressed to his temple, and in any other circumstances, she might have offered to soothe him with a kiss. Not this time, though.

“You were following me,” she accused, annoyed.

“Yeah, so what? I’ve been shadowing you for weeks.”

Taken aback by his revelation, she wasn’t sure for a second what to reply. And he confused her even more when he glared in the direction Riley had left and shook his head.

“Hell, I can still hear him from here. A pity nothing more dangerous than me is listening.”

Bitterness and dislike were plain in his voice, but his words puzzled Buffy.

“What do you mean, you can hear him?”

“His heart. Thrumming like a bloody drum roll. A wonder he’s not falling over dead.”

He seemed to remember whom he was talking about, and his mouth twisted in a sneer as he added, “One can only hope.”

“Spike! Don’t say stuff like that!”

He shrugged and, finally seeming to notice the blood trickling from his nose, wiped it off with the back of his hand.

“I say it like I think it, Slayer,” he replied gruffly. “And he’s thought about staking me more than once, so fair is fair.”

He was probably right, and Buffy was slightly mollified, but she still felt necessary to renew her protest.

“Still, just don’t say it. He’s part of the gang. And if he ever dare lift a finger against you again, I…”

“You will do nothing,” Spike cut in, agitated. “I’m not a child to be protected against bullies. It’s that bloody chip!”

She bit back her remark that kicking an innocent tombstone wasn’t going to help, and instead, picked up on what he had said. He had tried to distract her, but he still had to explain himself.

“I’m not a child either. What was that about following me for weeks?”

*****

As he returned to his crypt, Spike could have howled in frustration. What in hell had possessed him to tell the Slayer he had been keeping an eye on her? He should have denied everything; it would have been the right course. She wouldn’t have been able to prove he wasn’t being truthful, and that would have saved Spike a lot of trouble. The thing was, his head had still been ringing from his aborted attempt at giving Finn what he deserved, and, too upset to think clearly, he had talked too much. Now the Slayer knew, and she didn’t appreciate his efforts, far from it.

In truth, he hadn’t paid much attention to her rant about not needing a babysitter. He would be more careful from now on, but he would keep shadowing her. He couldn’t stop doing it. All the while, one thought haunted him. The damn chip had to come out. It had lasted too long already. And it wasn’t only because he needed to be able to defend himself. There was more to it.

As long as he had the chip in his head, Buffy wouldn’t really trust him; she trusted the technology and nothing more, no matter what she said, he was sure of it. He needed the bloody thing gone to show her he could and would continue to be a good man, even now that they were together. Show her he truly wasn’t Angelus, after all. Show her, also, and that was the most important thing, that he could listen to his human side.

Because it was his human side she had taken into her bed for the first time, his human side she had spent a whole night with, his human side, he knew, she would have kept if she had been able to choose between him and the demon. He wouldn’t lose her like that. He simply wouldn’t allow it to happen.

His mind was still buzzing with these too many thoughts when he entered the crypt, but immediately he knew someone was there. He was incredulous upon discovering who his guest was.

“Harmony?”

From behind the sarcophagus, she waved a handkerchief in his direction. “Truce! Truce! I’m calling for a truce!”

He belatedly understood that it was a white flag – or as close to it as she probably had found – that she was brandishing. He wasn’t sure whether to laugh or stake her. The last time he had seen her, she had just kidnapped Dawn, and he didn’t know how she had managed to escape the dusting she should have gotten.

“What do you want?” he asked warily.

“I… I want to work with you,” she stuttered. “I mean, I want to be in your plan. With the Slayer.”

“My plan with the Slayer,” he repeated. “And what would that be?”

She seemed a little cautious still as she got out from behind the sarcophagus and came closer to him, smiling hesitantly.

“I’ve thought about it for a long time, and I finally know why you’re working with her. It’s to get that chip out of your head, isn’t it? And then you’ll kill her, right?”

Baffled, he could only stare at her blankly. How could she possibly know about the chip?

When he didn’t answer, she seemed to grow more nervous and started babbling.

“OK, so, I didn’t really think of it myself, that’s what I’ve been hearing, there’s a group of demons who’s like, you know, waiting for you to finally do it. They say you’ve got the best shot since…”

“How do they know?” he snapped. “How do they know about the chip?”

She shrugged. “Rumor has it that these government commandos held you for a while. Is it true? Not many demons came out of that alive. Or, you know, undead.”

Could his night get any worse, Spike thought tiredly? First, the wanker trying to show him up in front of Buffy, the humiliation of not even being able to clock the guy, then Buffy’s irritation at finding out he had been following her, and now this. The demon world knew about the chip, thought he was going to kill the Slayer, and was waiting for him to make his move. Not only that, but he was getting unsolicited recruits.

Rolling his eyes about the absurdity of the situation, he went to the door and opened it wide.

“This has been a bloody awful night so far, but I’m still going to give you a choice, and since you’re so clever, I’m sure you’ll make the right one. Either you get out of my crypt and stay the hell away from me, the Slayer and her kid sister, or I stake you, here and now. You pick.”

Eyes wide, she darted out, and Spike banged the door shut behind her. He should have staked her, certainly, but at that moment he simply wasn’t in the mood to do so. All he wanted was to get some sleep and forget for a while anything that wasn’t going as it was supposed to. And to think he had believed that having the Slayer’s love would make everything easier…

*****

Telling herself that she didn’t have to hope she wasn’t making a mistake because she knew, deep down, that it wasn’t one, Buffy entered the crypt without knocking. It was a bad habit, she was aware of it, but she had no time to lose.

Unsurprisingly, Spike was in front of the television; he seemed to have taken quite a liking to bad soap operas, even if he denied it at every occasion. He looked at her a little guardedly as she approached and turned off the television. They hadn’t parted on the best of terms the previous night; he had to be wondering if she was still angry. She should have been, but in truth, she wasn’t. Her irritation at his stalking act had disappeared by the time she had returned home the night before. He loved her; he was trying to keep her safe however he could. Could she really be mad at him for that?

He still hadn’t spoken as she sat on the sofa next to him, and she realized that neither had she. Not a word, not even a greeting. Time to remedy to that. Leaning toward him, she cupped his face in her hand and led his mouth to hers. It seemed to be the signal he had been waiting for as his hands immediately found her waist and pulled her closer, practically onto his lap. She broke off the kiss and shook her head regretfully.

“No time for that now,” she said, apologetic. “There’s a lot going on.”

His head tilted to one side, he nodded once, acknowledging her words, but didn’t let go of his hold on her; she didn’t mind at all, even if his thumbs rubbing her sides softly were a bit distracting.

“Mom wasn’t feeling good this morning,” she started with the beginning. “She fainted. Scared the hell out of Dawn and me. We called an ambulance and got her to the hospital.”

She could see the worry increasing on his features with each word, and she talked faster, hoping to reassure him.

“She’s fine, now. All better.”

“You sure?”

“Yes, the doctors said so. But that’s not all. Riley arrived while we were waiting for the ambulance. He said he wanted to apologize for last night.”

Spike’s eyes seemed to glitter with gold; it could have been a trick of the light, but Buffy wasn’t naïve enough to believe so.

“Well, anyway, he came to the hospital with us; and we found out that you were right. His heart is beating way faster than normal, and…”

“Slayer? Is there a reason you’re telling me all this? Because you _know_ I couldn’t care less about Finn.”

She grimaced. She had expected as much, but she still had hoped that he would care at least a little. Riley was part of the group, after all, and he wasn’t responsible for what Spike had endured with the Initiative. Better to skip ahead to what was sure to get his attention.

“Do you care about getting the chip out?”

His head snapped up, and the pressure of his hands on her waist was almost painful. Oh yes, he did care.

“Riley needs surgery. He’s hiding. If we find him and take him to the surgeon…”

She hesitated then, wondering once more if she was making a mistake. What if Spike got hurt? What if…?

“They’ll take the chip out,” she finished in a rush, refusing to let herself think. “I asked them and… and they’ll do it.”

It had been a slightly more complicated negotiation than that, but Spike didn’t need to hear about it now. And even if she had wanted to say anything, it might have been difficult seeing how he was kissing the breath out of her.

“You did that for me?” he asked, delighted. “You really did?”

She smiled at the almost childlike glee reflected on his features. “I wanted to help you. But we need to find Riley before it can happen.”

He lifted her to her feet even as he stood and quickly grabbed his duster.

“Right. Let’s find the wanker, then. Any clue where he’d rabbit off to?”

*****

_We found him without too much trouble, and I stayed out of sight while Buffy tried to convince him to come with her. I heard a few interesting things, as I listened to them. Heard him refuse to lose his strength and endurance, claiming he needed them to help her. Heard her reply that Xander didn’t have any special power or ability but had been helping her for years; that didn’t exactly comfort the wanker. He finally admitted that he wanted her to see him as an option._

_“An option for what?” said my lovely but clueless Slayer._

_“You know… if it doesn’t work with Spike.”_

_Awkward silence if I ever heard one. I couldn’t help it, then. I had to peek from behind a rock at what was going on. Judging by Buffy’s wide eyes, she had finally gotten it, and she wouldn’t deny it anymore when I mentioned Finn’s crush on her._

_“Riley, I…”_

_She shook her head, apparently at a loss._

_“You – or anyone – having extra strength… that’s not why I fall in love with people. That’s not why I love Spike.”_

_“Why, then? He’s a demon. You kill demons.”_

_“Yes, he’s a demon. But he is much more than that. And… and why I love him really isn’t the matter, here. I’m not going to let you risk your life like this. You need surgery and you’ll get it. You’ll probably endure it better if I don’t have to kick your ass all the way there, though.”_

_He relented, then. After all, what chances did he have to ever get the girl if he was dead?_

_He wasn’t so happy to see me there – and he was livid when, after his operation, he heard that it was my turn. But there wasn’t much he could do about it, and I gotta admit, I enjoyed myself for a bit at his fury._

_And then…_  
  
 _I don’t think I’ve ever been as disappointed as I was when the doc said it was too complicated for him and he was afraid he would damage my brain. He had already been messing around for half an hour or so, and I was thinking it was almost done. Apparently not._

_The Slayer called the whole thing off._

_I had been waiting for this for months, to be freed from that electronic leash and be myself again, completely and wholly. Not wanting to hurt humans was irrelevant. And then to get there, on the operating table, to know the doctor was starting, and suddenly to be told that it wasn’t going to happen… I could have screamed in frustration. Hell, I did scream. Scared the bloody doc so bad that his hand was shaking when he stitched me back up and I felt the needle more than I should have. It didn’t matter, though. Not when the chip was still in, and I wasn’t one step closer to having it out._

_Then there was Riley and his little smile, right at the corner of his lips. The bloody wanker was glad I was still fangless, of course. God, but I do hate the git._

_Did I regret giving Buffy the last word on this? Hell yeah. If it had been up to me, I would have had the doc keep working and do his best, and sod the risks. But I had promised, and I couldn’t come back on my word._

_I went back to the crypt, afterwards. Alone. Buffy had said she wanted to check on her mum, hinting that she wanted me to come along, but I was too upset for that and begged off. I might have taken my frustration out on a couple of grave markers on my way. Sue me._

_I had time to dull the anger with a few glasses of scotch before Buffy arrived. Or a few bottles. OK, so I was drunk. Completely wasted. She wrinkled her dainty nose at me but refrained from giving me a sermon. I think she understood, at least a little, what was going on in my head._

_She took me to the lower level, helped me get out of my clothes, but when I thought she was up for a bit of fun she just made me lie down, and lay next to me, fully clothed. She said she wanted to spend the night, but with her mom not feeling well she had to go home, and I couldn’t argue with that. She promised to stay until I was sleeping. I tried to remain awake, tried to make her change her mind about playing; but she was inflexible, and I fell asleep with her hand stroking my hair._

_I roused to the thought that she must have changed her mind because she was above me, riding me hard, body arched and gleaming in the candlelight. A goddess. She came with a cry of my name and I could only follow her lead. And then, as we lay together, she trying to catch her breath, me to come to grips with the fact that such a beautiful being loved me, wanted me, she said it._

_“Make me yours.”_

_I stared. She was mine already, wasn’t she?_

_“Make me your mate. And I’ll make you mine.”_

_I didn’t think, and only dove for her throat as she buried her face in mine. Her blood was sweet, so sweet, so powerful, so much more than anything I can describe…_

_I woke up with a gasp, and sat up in a bed where I was alone. It had only been a dream. Or nightmare. Not sure which. Because as delightful the idea of mating with her was, the warning of the first Slayer was still strong in my mind. If I bit Buffy, she would kill me._

_Thing is, I wasn’t far from the point of thinking it was worth it._


	7. Little Sis

The new training room was nothing like Buffy would ever have imagined. It was much better. The mats, equipment, even the painted pictograms on the walls that she vaguely recognized as protection sigils – Giles would be proud, she would have to remember to mention it casually and see how he reacted – everything was giving her an incredible feeling of support and strength.

“Come on, Buffy. Let’s spar!”

Everything, but not everyone.

Refraining from rolling her eyes at Riley’s insistence at proving to her that he was back in shape after his surgery, she turned to Giles again and thanked him some more. Just as he was replying that it had been a group effort and that she deserved no less, Spike entered through the back door and Giles tilted his head toward him, indicating without more words that he had helped too.

“Watcher! I thought you said you’d wait for me for the inauguration!”

His mock frown turned real when he noticed Riley, and to prevent any clashes, Buffy went to him.

“How did you get in?” she asked him, delighted to see him but a little puzzled. “And how come you’re not all smoking under your blanket?”

Getting rid of said blanket, he gave her a lopsided grin and twirled a single key on its ring at the tip of his index.

“Rupert was kind enough to give me a key. And it just happens that there’s a sewer entrance a few steps from the alley. Minimum burning involved.”

He was practically beaming, and she returned his smile as she laced her arms around his neck.

“I was just saying thank you,” she murmured. “And thanks to you too.”

His hands settled at her waist as she pulled him in for a kiss, and the contact sent sparks down her spine. She deepened the kiss, lightly touching her tongue to his and forgetting where they were and with whom until she noticed the throat clearing behind her. Blushing lightly, she glanced back behind her; Spike didn’t let go and neither did she.

Xander had apparently returned to whatever he was building for the shop, Giles was busy cleaning his glasses, and Riley’s face was too grim to hide his distaste.

“Why don’t you get changed,” Giles suggested. “And then we can test your new training room.”

“I’ll spar with you,” Riley quickly offered, and immediately Buffy could hear Spike’s soft growl of displeasure. He had voiced his irritation at not being able to spar with her often enough that she knew better than to accept Riley’s offer in front of him.

“Thanks, but I was supposed to practice meditation exercises today. Right, Giles?”

For half a second, her Watcher seemed startled but he seemed to catch on to what she was doing.

“Meditation, yes. That was our program for the day.”

Hoping that she could safely leave Spike and Riley in the same room for a few minutes – with Giles around, it ought to be safe – she quickly went to change. She would have to talk to Riley about his attitude, she realized that, but she had no clue where to start and didn’t look forward to that conversation. Couldn’t he understand already that she and Spike were fine and that he didn’t have a chance with her?

*****

Later that day, Spike was just finishing his cigarette outside the Summers house when Buffy walked out, looking so pensive that for a moment he thought she wouldn’t even notice him. She did however, and gave him an uncharacteristically blank look as he ground out the stub under his heel.

“Hey,” she said quietly. “You’re there.”

“That I am,” he chuckled as he approached her. “Very observant of you to notice. Ready for patrol?”

He gave her a quick kiss, to which she barely responded. Something was off.

“You smell of incense,” he noticed.

“And you taste of cigarette,” she replied without her usual distaste. “Would you mind…”

She looked back toward the house and frowned slightly.

“Would you mind staying here and watching Dawn?”

It was his turn to frown. Just a few days before, she had been venting about Dawn’s crush on him, and now she wanted him to play babysitter? She seemed to realize he was going to protest, and she gave him the look that never failed to make him cave in.

“Mom’s out and I’d rather not leave her alone. Who knows what she’d do.”

He shook his head. “Paint her nails green? Come on, Slayer, she’s big enough…”

“No she’s not. Remember last time? Harmony and the kidnapping and…”

He raised his hands in surrender. “Fine, fine. I’ll stay with her. But you owe me.”

She didn’t acknowledge the sultry tone his voice had taken, merely brushed her lips against his cheek and then she was off, throwing a thank you over her shoulder. Something twisted in Spike as he watched her walk away. It was the same feeling he had when he watched her train and was unable to help, a fluttering feeling of uselessness. True, she had asked his help in keeping an eye on the little sis, but it wasn’t the same as being there with her. And he would have given a lot to know what was preoccupying her so. Why hadn’t she told him?

With a small, weary sigh, he entered the house and found Dawn sitting on the next to last step of the staircase. He gave her a cautious smile, but she didn’t answer to his greeting.

“You didn’t even want to stay with me,” she accused, her bottom lip trembling slightly. “What did I do? Why don’t you like me anymore?”

He racked his fingers through his hair, unsure how to reply. He had tried to distance himself from Dawn for her own good, but he doubted she would understand that.

“Of course I still like you,” he said gruffly as he shrugged out of his coat. “It’s just…”

She watched him with big wet eyes; he shook his head and tried to soften his voice.

“I’m a vamp, nibblet,” he reminded her as he placed his coat on the railing and gingerly sat near her, but not too close. “I don’t want you getting comfortable around vamps. It’s not safe for you.”

“But I know you’d never hurt me!” she protested vehemently then added under her breath, “Unlike Buffy.”

“That I wouldn’t doesn’t mean other vamps…”

He realized then what she had said, and stopped, looking at her blankly.

“What do you mean, unlike Buffy?”

The tears seemed closer than ever as she cradled her arm.

“She hurt me,” she confided, sniffling. “And she said I wasn’t her sister. She was really mean to me.”

Spike’s first instinct was to refuse to believe her. Buffy was sometimes impatient with Dawn’s foibles, but that was a long way from hurting her sister. But then, why would Dawn lie? And there was the fact that Buffy had been acting rather strangely when he had talked to her a few minutes earlier.

“I’m sure she didn’t mean to hurt you,” he murmured, troubled, and ran a hand through Dawn’s hair. “But I’ll talk to her. See what all of that was about.”

The girl sniffled as she leaned against his shoulder, and Spike gave up on trying to keep his distances. Just like Joyce reminded him of his mother, despite the century and many differences that separated them, Dawn was more a younger sibling to him than a friend, and nothing would change that.

“How about some hot chocolate?” he suggested, hoping to cheer her up a little, and was rewarded by a bright smile.

*****

As she slowly walked back toward her home, Buffy held her coat closed tight over her chest, but it didn’t help her feel any warmer. The cold that had seeped down into her bones, into her soul, had nothing to do with the fresh night air, and was due instead to the chilling revelation she had heard earlier.

Dawn wasn’t her sister. Not really. Merely something magical and dangerous placed in Buffy’s life so that she would protect it. Protect her. How could Buffy think of her as anything other than family when she had all these memories of sisterly love and feuds? It was difficult for her to accept what the dying monk had said, even after witnessing during her trance the magic that had created Dawn. How would the others react to the news? What would her mom say? She wasn’t feeling so well already, and to hear that Dawn was not really her daughter would certainly distress her even more. Same thing for her friends, and Spike. They all had these bits of memory of things that had never happened, it would all be so confusing if she told them… And Dawn herself… She didn’t know, the monk had said. As far as she was concerned, she was Dawn Summers, nothing more, and especially not the Key, whatever that was.

A tiny bit of Buffy’s malaise lifted as she made her decision. She wouldn’t tell Dawn, or her mom, or her friends. She had no reason to. On the contrary, the less people that knew that Dawn was special, the safer she would be from that madwoman who was looking for her. But Buffy would need help, information, and that meant she had to tell Giles.

She could hear light chattering in the living room as she entered the house; her mom was back early, it seemed and Spike was still there, watching over Dawn as Buffy had asked him earlier. Except then, she had meant for him to watch Dawn and make sure she didn’t hurt her mom; and now, she knew it was Dawn who would need protecting. A wave of warmth passed through her as she realized that she wasn’t alone, that Spike would help her keep Dawn safe.

Leaving them to their talk for a moment longer, she slipped into the kitchen and called Giles, asking him to come to her house right away. The sooner they started gathering information, the better prepared she would be when the woman – the demon? – came for Dawn. And Buffy had no doubts she would. 

When she hung up the phone, she was startled to discover Spike right behind her.

“Letting your guard down?” he asked, and he wasn’t completely teasing.

“It’s been a long day,” she replied, forcing a smile.

His head tilted to the side, just a hint, and he appeared to scrutinize her.

“Are you alright?” he asked.

“Just tired.”

“Tired enough to hurt Dawn?”

She froze, blinked, stared. And realized that she had indeed been rough with her sister.

“I… didn’t mean…” she started, but realized it wasn’t true. At the time, she had been certain that Dawn was the reason why their mom was sick. “I was in a trance,” she explained ruefully. “Training stuff. Not feeling exactly like myself. I’ll apologize to her.”

For just a little longer, Spike continued to observe her and finally gave her a small nod.

“She was pretty spooked.”

“I know. I was too.”

“Better now?”

“Much better,” she lied, and stepped close enough to hug him. As she did, she silently thanked him for caring for Dawn like this, already protecting her when he didn’t even know how much she needed protection.

“I’m going to stay here a bit longer,” she said, a whisper in the crook of his neck. Talk with Dawn, and with mom a bit. Girls stuff. You want to go back to the crypt and I’ll join you later?”

She had moved to the campus dorm a couple of weeks earlier, but she had started to spend more nights in his bed than in hers.

“Sure,” he answered, his voice strangely inexpressive. “I’ll do a quick patrol and wait for you like the good little boyfriend I am.”

She pulled back and frowned as she looked at him. What was that about?

“I didn’t mean to boss you around,” she said carefully. “I’m sorry if that’s what it sounded like. Did it sound like that?”

He shook his head, avoiding her eyes as he brushed a strand of hair behind her ear.

“No, it didn’t sound…”

He cut himself short and looked straight at her.

“You know you can tell me anything, don’t you?” he asked quietly, almost pleadingly.

She didn’t know what had prompted the question; maybe Spike knew her well enough to tell when something was preoccupying her. For an instant, she imagined herself telling him about Dawn, but dismissed the idea right away.

“I know,” she smiled, and gave him a light kiss.

The next half hour went in a flash, with Buffy’s mind still echoing the monk’s words even as she apologized to Dawn and tried to reassure herself that her mother was alright. Giles arrived at last, and she was finally able to talk and empty her mind. Her revelations shocked him, she could tell that much.

“Do we tell the others?” he finally asked, but she could already tell from the tone of his voice that he felt as she did.

“No. No one. They’d act weird around her and it’s… it’s safer if they don’t know.”

He nodded thoughtfully, but questioned her decision nonetheless. “No one? Not even Spike?”

She sighed, feeling a pang of guilt run through her.

“Not even Spike. He adores Dawn, I… I think he’d be brokenhearted. I don’t want him to be as confused as I am.”

*****

_So, that’s why she didn’t tell me, huh?_

_I knew, that night, that she was hiding something from me. I’m not stupid. I had heard her on the phone, asking Giles to come to her home, and the next minute she said she wanted girl talk. I knew she was lying to me, that something was going on, but she didn’t take my hint and I didn’t insist, even though it hurt to know she was keeping things from me._

_I didn’t insist either when she joined me in the crypt, but God knows how much I wanted to. She tried to smile and be herself, but I could tell that something was on her mind. We did no more than cuddle, that night. She said she was tired, that she wanted me to hold her, and I did. I gave her the comfort she wanted, without knowing why she needed it. I held her tight, murmured to her everything would be all right long after she had fallen asleep, before eventually joining her into dreams._

_I wish she had told me. It would have meant a lot if she had. She told Giles and didn’t tell me. Yeah, I get it now, she was just trying to protect both the Nibblet and me, but still…Would she have admitted what was bugging her if I had insisted on knowing? Or would I have driven her away by doing so? That would have been worse, so much worse than me feeling disappointed when it finally all came up to the light._

_Anyway, what could I have done if she had told me? Nothing. There was nothing I could do, nothing more than what I was already doing, giving love and comfort to one of them, my affection and protection to the other. Knowing that Dawn wasn’t who I thought she was wouldn’t have changed how I saw her – and indeed my feelings didn’t change when I knew – but it wouldn’t have allowed me to help Buffy protect her any better either._

_So why am I still rambling about it?  
_


	8. M & M

The night was clear and calm, a soft breeze stirring the air. Neither too cool or nor too warm, it was an ideal mid-October night, with summer already a memory and winter still far in the distance. It was the perfect kind of night for two lovers to take a stroll.

A few days earlier, they would have taken these steps back to Spike’s crypt more leisurely, and taken the time, maybe, to enjoy a lovely night out before falling into bed. But now Buffy had moved back to Revello, insisting she had to sleep there, and whatever time she did spend at the crypt was always too short. If he hadn’t known any better, Spike might have started to believe she was deliberately spending less time with him. It was hard, sometimes, to remember that he _did_ know better.

“All I’m saying,” she explained, leaning a little against him as if to be closer would show her point better, “is that you could have tried not to hit Tara so hard.”

“But it wouldn’t have proved anything if I hadn’t tried to hurt her,” he argued, stifling a laugh at her stubbornness. “Believe me, I didn’t enjoy it any more than she did.”

He rubbed his temple for emphasis and she slipped a hand behind his head to draw him toward her and press a kiss to the spot he had touched. A fleeting thought crossed his mind – what would have happened if he had struck at Tara but without the intent of hurting her? – but before he could think any more about it, Buffy was talking again.

“I’ve got to admit, it was a great idea. Poor Tara was so relieved not to be a demon.”

“There’s nothing wrong about being a demon,” he grumbled, kicking a stone out of his way.

“For you, maybe,” she replied patiently. “But with the tales her family had been spinning for her… She’s much better off with Willow.”

For an instant, the memory resurfaced in Spike’s mind of the two witches dancing at the bronze earlier that night. They had looked incredibly blissful.

“Why didn’t we dance?” he asked abruptly, stopping Buffy with a hand on her forearm. They had reached the edge of his cemetery and they stood on the frontier of his world and hers. Could they ever mesh any more than they already had?

“Why didn’t..?” she looked at him askance. “You never want to dance.”

He was about to protest, remind her of her prom night, or of that evening at the Bronze when they had decided to give each other a chance, but he realized these were the only two times he had ever danced with her – at least as far as literal dancing was involved. 

“Well, I’m an idiot. You should make me dance with you.”

An amused little light flickered in her eyes as he took both her hands in his, leading the first to his shoulder and clasping the other one as he held on to her waist. She said nothing and indulged him as he took her through the tombs in the mirror of a waltz that could have taken place, had he remained human and she been born a century earlier. The steps were surprisingly easy to remember, and she learned fast. Did she realize how far back in his past he was reaching for this, for her? Probably not.

She was laughing in delight when they finally stopped, just by the entrance of the crypt. It was nice to see her relaxed after all her tension in the past few days.

Both arms now hooked around his neck, she drew him in for a sweet kiss, whispering a quiet ‘thank you’ against his lips. Another kiss, deeper this one, as their tongues danced to the same rhythm their steps had, and when they separated she repeated the words.

“And thank you for earlier. For Tara. And for helping me with the demons.”

The reminder sobered him and he gave her a wry smile as he led her inside his home.

“My pleasure, luv. Although I’ll admit you had me scared for a moment when I realized you couldn’t see me.”

*****

_Buffy was exercising as Spike slid in the training room through the back door, beating on the punching bag as if it were her biggest enemy. If only for a tiny pause in her movements, he almost could have believed that she was not aware of his presence. He leaned against the wall and observed her silently for a few minutes, itching to join in her dance but knowing it wouldn’t work. He couldn’t train with her and wishing that he could didn’t make things any easier._

_They were supposed to have a Scooby meeting about a new demon who had given Buffy a hard time, but she didn’t seem in any hurry to return to the store. Spike frowned, wondering if he had had the time wrong._

_“Hey luv, when’s the meeting?”_

_She didn’t answer, didn’t even pause or look at him. Was she mad at him because he was late?_

_He was just beginning to approach her when a couple of demons rushed into the room – how could they have passed the gang without rousing shouts? – and came straight at the Slayer. She didn’t react. Spike shouted a warning for her, but to no avail; one of the demons was already behind her, and all he could do was make sure the other one didn’t reach her._

_She kicked the demon at the very last second before he could touch her, but then did not continue her attack. Something was wrong, Spike realized as again he shouted for her and again she didn’t acknowledge him. She was fighting as though blindfolded, never attacking her opponent first and only when it was directly in front of her. Not understanding what game she was playing and afraid for her life, Spike snapped the neck of the demon he had been dealing with and leapt for the second one, pulling it away from Buffy just as it was swinging at her. Surprised by Spike’s intervention, the demon was almost a too easy kill. Buffy was still standing there, immobile as though waiting for the next attack, unaware that both demons were dead._

_“Slayer?” Spike tried as he carefully reached toward her. Her reaction was swift, and before he knew it he was on the floor and she had taken a short sword off the wall._

_“Buffy! What game are you playing?”_

_Again, she was doing the blind routine, clearly unsure of where he was exactly._

_“Sorry, luv,” he murmured even as he braced himself for the pain. “Don’t want to hurt the both of us but you don’t leave me much of a choice…”_

_His foot hooked behind her ankle and she fell with a gasp, the air knocked out of her. Ignoring the surprisingly weak twinges of pain coursing through his brain, Spike rushed to secure her. She froze when he straddled her waist and pinned her hands down, and frowned in confusion._

_“Spike? Is that you?”_

_He wanted to laugh and tell her that yes, it was him, but she wouldn’t hear him. So instead, he leaned into her neck and brushed the faintest kiss against the bite scars he had inflicted. A shiver ran through her, and he was convinced she now knew it really was him._

_“Why can’t I …” she started, then her eyes widened in alarm. “Dawn!”_

_He let her up and followed her to the store. He helped as he could as she fought another demon, at first blindly; and then, Spike soon understood why she hadn’t been able to see him when Tara lifted whatever spell she had done._

__

*****

“I couldn’t see you,” Buffy repeated, smiling softly. “But that didn’t prevent me from recognizing you, did it?”

The pressure of her fingers at the back of Spike’s head was enough to make him lean and kiss her neck as he had earlier. And as earlier, something flared within Buffy and made her tremble.

“Why… why do they feel like that when you touch them?” she asked as she let Spike maneuver her toward the ladder.

“Only when I touch my marks,” he replied, and she noticed that he was observing her curiously. “And precisely because they’re mine.”

She wanted to object that all three sets of scars were oversensitive, but she realized that he was right; the ones he had created felt… different when he touched them. Could it mean…

She preceded him down to the lower level, and as he stepped behind her, she turned to him a little nervous, even a bit afraid, at the question that had surged into her mind.

“Did you… claim me?” she asked, unsure of what answer she hoped to hear.

“Claim you?” he repeated, sounding perplexed about what she meant.

“Not claim… what’s the word… mate? Did you mate with me?”

His eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Mate? How do you …”

Interrupting himself, he shook his head. “No. I did not claim you as my mate. I would have needed your consent for that.”

His voice abruptly switched to a near purr. “And the only thing I want your consent for is this.”

Bold fingers grazed her collarbone before following the curve of her right breast. The barrier of fabric between them, as thin as her blouse was, became intolerable when he cupped her breast.

“Yes,” she breathed. “Definitely yes.”

“What exactly are you saying yes to, luv?”

It was hard to think with his lips grazing her ear, her cheek, her jaw, barely touching and a perfect counterpoint to his hand massaging her breast, his thumb flicking her nipple to a hard nub. Belying his request for clarification, his free hand found the hem of her shirt and he began quickly but carefully to unbutton it. She had made a bargain with him after losing her fifth item of clothing to his enthusiasm; each time he destroyed anything of hers, she would take something of his and replace it as she saw fit. He had been astonishingly cautious when undressing her since she had added a sky-blue shirt to his wardrobe. He had never worn it so far.

Now using both hands, he guided the blouse down her shoulders, and Buffy used the momentum to break away.

“I’m saying yes,” she stated, trying to appear collected even though her heart was attempting to break free of her chest, “to watching you undress.”

He gave her an amused little smile, and she knew he was all too aware what effect a few caresses and kisses had had on her already, but he said nothing. His eyes never leaving hers, he reached for the top button of his shirt and slowly popped it open. So, that was how he wanted to play it, was it? Before he had even moved down to the second button, Buffy had kicked off her shoes and unhooked her bra. His fluid movements faltered when she undid her pants and shimmied out of them and her underwear at once, leaving her bare in front of him.

“Well?” she asked with mock impatience when he still didn’t resume his unbuttoning.

The word seemed to snap him out of his reverie, and as he brought a second hand up, it was clear that he would rush through the rest of his stripping.

“As slow as before,” she instructed him. “You set the pace, you stick to it now.”

His pained groan almost made Buffy grin, but she struggled to keep her composure. Always keeping her eyes on him, she stepped backwards until the back of her legs touched the mattress, then sat and moved up the bed to prop herself against the pillows.

“Nice,” she commented despite her dry throat as he finally dropped his shirt to the floor. “Very nice.”

She wanted so much to reach for the smooth, hard planes of his torso that she had to close her eyes for a brief second to control herself. Instead, she deliberately trailed her fingertips up her chest, and watched him as he gazed at her. The pure lust on his features sent searing heat to her core and she bit her bottom lip not to moan.

His hands were trembling as he reached for his jeans’ fastenings, faster than she would have allowed a moment earlier but she didn’t protest, especially when his freed cock stood at attention, proud and indubitably eager. Now naked, Spike smirked as he wrapped his fist around it and gave it a few hard strokes. But two could play that game, and his smugness turned to pleading when her wandering hand abandoned her breast to slide between her thighs. She rubbed her needy clit with her thumb even as she slipped two fingers past her wet folds.

“Slayer,” he groaned, so low a rumble that she could hardly catch the word.

“Come up here,” she nodded urgently, and expected him to literally jump on the bed – and on her. Instead, he knelt on the edge of the mattress and slowly slithered his way up her body, taking the time to place a kiss on her calf, a soft bite, merely the scrape of his teeth, just above her knee, a long swipe of his tongue over her opening and clit, a series of small butterfly kisses up her chest and finally, finally he was over her, and all she needed was to angle her hips _just so_ to welcome him in her.

“Are you saying yes to me moving?” he asked with an insufferable grin, and she just had to wipe that smile off his lips. She squeezed her muscles tight around him, tight enough that his eyelids fluttered close and he swore.

“Nope. No moving for you.”

His eyes opened again, incredulous, and he started to protest, but with her arms and legs holding him securely to her, she rolled them and switched their positions so that she was straddling him.

“Remember,” she murmured. “Do not move.”

She started rocking her hips, lifting them until only the tip of him remained in her and then sliding down again, too slow and soft to give either of them enough friction, to see if he could truly remain still. But then, he asked in a strained voice if he could at least touch her, and she made the mistake of answering that he could. Once his hands – long, beautiful hands, without the black nail polish that had once tipped each finger but with so much dexterity, skill and knowledge of every inch of her, God how she loved his hands – started skimming over her flesh, it was impossible to keep things slow.

She had to rock her body harder on his, drive him deeper with every slam down; there was no way she could be slow, not when these sinful hands cupped her breast, one of them massaging lightly while the other pinched and rubbed her nipple raw, sending conflicting messages of almost-pain and pleasure to her brain. Not when he drew her down and soothed her sore areola with small swipes of his cool tongue. Not when he seemed to be able to find with an eerie ease every sensitive spot that graced her body.

She could feel the wave of pleasure rising, always higher, and soon it would crash and submerge everything, she just needed a little more, just a little…

His mouth closed over her neck and careful teeth prodded where fangs had once broken her skin. Buffy’s world imploded, flooded by sensations so overwhelming she was aware of nothing but her singing body and Spike’s, joined and moving together now as she convulsed around him and he pulsed inside her.

She collapsed over his chest, small tremors still shaking both of them as he held her and murmured a string of love words that tickled her forehead. She managed to raise herself enough to kiss him, a short, chaste kiss that ended on shared ‘I love you’s.

As her breathing slowly returned to normal, she rolled off him and onto her side; immediately Spike wrapped himself against her back. She smiled to herself. He was always so possessive and protective, and yet he’d deny it if she raised the topic, putting forward his ultimate argument that he never intruded into her fights unless she truly needed the help. It was true, and she appreciated it.

“I can’t stay long,” she reminded Spike after a few seconds. As nice as a little nap would have been, she had to fight off much welcomed sleep.

“I know, it’s OK,” he replied sleepily, but the arm at her waist tightened just a little.

It was anything but OK, and she wanted to tell him so, but that might raise too many questions about why she couldn’t spend too much time away from Dawn. Some day, she would have to explain to him, and apologize for keeping things from him. And sooner than that she would need to talk to her mom about Spike spending the night at Revello. A few weeks back, just before Buffy had moved back to the campus dorms, Joyce had been too shocked to give her usual arguments when Buffy had taken Spike’s human half home; maybe she could use that temporary weakness in the ‘Dawn is young and impressionable’ line of thought to win Spike an all-time access to the house. She had grown used to falling asleep in his arms and spending the whole night with him. It didn’t make things too easy when she had an early class, but it was well worth it if only for the tactile memory of his touch lingering all day long. As soon as Joyce felt better, Buffy would talk to her about it.

“What ’re you thinking about?” Spike rumbled against the back of her neck.

“Mom and Dawn,” she replied without thinking. Spike huffed.

“Must be losing my touch if you think about your family when you’re in bed with me.”

Chuckling, she turned in his embrace to look at him, and wasn’t surprised to discover he was pouting. The twitching at the corner of his lips threatened to turn the pout into a grin, though.

“Just thinking about how to make you a complete part of the family,” she explained, stroking his face gently. “So I wouldn’t have to leave you here all alone and pouty.”

Moving closer to him, she captured his bottom lip between her own and worried it with her tongue.

“Do you mean…” he started when she released him, and he was completely serious now, serious and hesitant.

“Mean what?” she prodded.

“Last time we talked of being a family, the Witch’s spell was in full effect and you had my ring on your finger.”

For an instant Buffy was at a loss for words as the memories flooded her mind. She could see him, on one knee in front of her. Could hear his words. Could feel the cool slide of silver along her finger. Could remember the extraordinary joy – and the pain when it had all disappeared in a flash.

What could she answer to that? His well-controlled voice had let nothing pass of what he was thinking, and she didn’t want to scare him or hurt him.

“Maybe someday,” she replied carefully, attentive to any hint of his features as to what he was thinking. “Would you… I mean, if there was no spell involved, is it something that you would even consider?”

A handful of seconds seemed to stretch into hours before Spike replied, almost rueful.

“’Can’t say I’ve given it much thought since I’ve stopped having a pulse. It’s not something vampires do.”

“Yeah, I guess you wouldn’t be big on the church part,” she joked, and got a faint smile in reply. “And it has to be a pain to get a marriage license when legally you’re dead.”

“There’s that,” he agreed. “But there’s also the fact that we have other ways of doing things.”

Her heart tightened for a second as she realized that this ‘we’ did not include her, but she pushed the feeling away and tried to see past his words.

“You mean… mating, don’t you? That’s the equivalent of a marriage.”

There had been the hint of a question in her words and she knew he had heard it. She wasn’t sure though, as he rolled onto his back, sat up and lit a cigarette, whether he would answer. Leaning on her elbow, she looked up at him and waited.

“I guess you could say it is,” he said at last. “Or at least it’s the closest thing we have. Vampire families, Orders, they’re more about blood lines than soulmates, so it kinda makes sense that adding someone to a family would require an exchange of blood.”

The wry humor in his voice didn’t fool Buffy; judging by how he was looking straight ahead and not at her, and by the way his fingers were tense around his cigarette, he wasn’t comfortable talking about it. That might have been also why he had changed the topic so quickly earlier. She couldn’t help wanting to know what made him uneasy about it. Was it because he couldn’t actually do it with the chip? Or could they even do it at all, seeing how she was human?

“Were you ever… mated?” she asked cautiously. If he had been, it had undoubtedly been to Drusilla; she wasn’t sure how a talk about the missing vampiress would go.

“No,” he answered shortly. “T’s not something I ever really thought about.”

She bit her tongue, wanting to prod a little more as some instinct was telling her that he wasn’t entirely truthful; yet, at the same time, she was afraid to push too far.

“So, how do you know about mating, anyway?” he asked abruptly, turning an inquisitive gaze to her. “I just can’t imagine old Rupert describing it all to you.”

The leer that curved his lips brought back to her mind the explicit details she had read about, and she felt her cheeks burn, in embarrassment or renewed lust, she wasn’t sure.

“It was in a book he had asked me to read,” she admitted, dropping her gaze to where her fingers were drawing soft lines on his bare chest. “Though it wasn’t one of the chapters he had marked. I kinda… stumbled upon it.”

And had not been able to stop reading until she had had all the details, she added to herself. She had been both fascinated and a little scared by what she had read, acutely aware, all along, that her boyfriend was a vampire.

Spike seemed pensive as she dared look up at him again, and she wasn’t sure if she imagined his eyes straying to the bite marks on her neck. With a sigh, she pressed her lips to his chest before pulling away and getting up. Neither of them spoke as she dressed; and as she sat on the edge of the bed to put her shoes on, he slipped right behind her and encircled her waist with his arms, his face buried against her back.

“Would you do it?” he asked, low and tense. “Would you be my mate, take me as yours?”

A frightening flame lit inside her, and she tried to tone it down the best she could.

“I thought it was just for vamps,” she weakly deflected the question. “So I couldn’t…”

“It’s been done with humans,” he interrupted softly. “Usually as a prelude to a human being turned, but it doesn’t have to be. Did your book tell you what it means to be mated? Did it tell about the bond it weaves, never broken save by a final death?”

Closing her eyes tight, Buffy steeled herself against the onslaught of her imagination. She was scared, at that moment, to discover that the idea of his fangs in her flesh again, of his blood on her tongue, weren’t as frightening as they ought to have been. And to be bonded to Spike like this, forever, ensuring that quarrels and misunderstandings wouldn’t break them apart…

“No,” she said, both to him and to the images in her mind, then repeated, almost as a whisper, “No.”

Reluctantly, she escaped his grip and stood, turning to look at him. His face was blank, his neutral expression marred by the barest little frown.

“I’m sorry,” she murmured, and kissed him goodbye. 

She left the crypt before he could notice her internal turmoil. She had barely reached the gates of the cemetery when his hand slipped into hers as he fell into step with her.

“Just walking my lady home,” he answered to her questioning gaze, and she smiled, grateful that he wasn’t holding her escape against her. Part of her hoped he never would ask again, because she wasn’t sure she would be able to refuse the kind of link he was offering. Another part…

They didn’t talk on their way to Revello drive until they had reached the door and shared a proper goodnight kiss. Just as he started walking away, she asked again, because he hadn’t answered earlier and she needed to know. It was the alternative to mating, and far less frightening.

“You never told me if you’d ever consider marriage.”

She could have sworn his eyes twinkled when he looked back at her. “You never returned the ring, luv. Doesn’t that mean we’re still engaged?”

A wink, a smirk, and he was gone, leaving Buffy confused but, somehow, smiling.

*****

_Can’t say I meant much by that. As I had told her, marriage had ceased to be on my list of things to do after I had been turned. But for her, of course, I would have considered anything._

_As for being mates…_

_Her reluctance about the mating thing didn’t hurt. It really didn’t. I understand all too well that she wasn’t ready for this kind of stuff. Hell, it had only been a few weeks since Dracula, and I was sure that it had to be in her mind still. Except that listening to you now it sounds like she was afraid about wanting it at all._

_In any case, even if she had been willing, I’m not sure I would have wanted it myself. Not sure I was ready. There were too many little things still in the way. The chip, for one; it was useless to talk of mating when I wouldn’t have been able to bite her. The little secrets that were between us still. My certitude that she would have liked a human me better. That bloody dream and warning from the First Slayer. No, we weren’t ready. Far from it. And there was no way to tell if we’d ever be._

_It’s not something vampires do very often, mating. When you know that, barring accidents and too close encounters with Slayers, you have centuries and more in front of you, deciding to mate has a far greater importance than a human marriage. It’s still part of the lore, and any self-respecting sire will teach it to its childer; but it also comes with a warning that there’s no undoing it, and you damn well better be sure before you make the decision of attaching yourself to someone for the rest of your unlife, be it ten years or ten centuries. Even as much as I loved Dru, even after the decades we spent together, we never did it. We never even talked about doing it. There always was this bit of confidence, deep inside me, that we had time in front of us, and that we would mate when the time was right, whether it took a few more months, or a few centuries._

_But with Buffy… we didn’t have centuries. Hell, we barely had a few months._


	9. Fools

Afterwards, Spike would replay the fight in his mind, blow by blow, and try to understand what had happened, why he hadn’t realized that it had been one of the few instances when Buffy had needed his active help. But right then, with her own stake embedded in her abdomen, all he could do was roar in outrage as he dusted her aggressor and pray to deities he had long forsaken that she would be alright.

She had pulled the stake out as he reached her, and he pried the bloody piece of wood out of her clenched fingers. The wound looked bad, and he knew she could see it on his face when she glanced up at him. He was about to try to reassure her when she collapsed; he barely had time to catch her before she hit the ground.

“Buffy! Wake up, luv. Come on. You’re gonna be fine.”

More to himself than to her, he talked as he carried her toward his crypt, promising she’d be just fine. She needed medical attention, certainly, but he didn’t dare bringing her to the hospital without trying to stop the bleeding first, and the crypt was close enough for that.

The scent of her blood filled the air around them, and it was too intoxicating for Spike to estimate how much she had lost – was still losing. It was a struggle to keep his demon at bay, and his control slipped when a hand grabbed his elbow. Sliding thoughtlessly into his demon features, he turned to the intruder, fangs bared and ready to attack to defend his injured Slayer. Riley backed off with both hands up.

“Hey calm down! I just…”

He caught sight of Buffy then and his eyes filled with dread.

“Is she…”

“Hurt,” Spike interrupted him, again mostly talking to himself. “Just hurt. Nothing more.”

Shaking off the fangs and ridges, he started walking again, faster now to make up for lost time, Riley already out of his mind.

Finally, he reached his crypt, and carefully deposited the still unconscious Slayer on top of the sarcophagus before leaping down to the lower level to retrieve the first aid kit he had acquired for Buffy’s sake. So far, only the antiseptic and a couple of bandages had been used, but that would soon change. He rushed back upstairs, and for the second time that night his demon came forward when he saw Riley standing by Buffy’s side.

“Do. Not. Touch. Her,” he growled, rushing to the sarcophagus. Riley took his hands off her but this time he did not back off.

“That won’t be enough,” he said, pointing to the kit in Spike’s hands. “She needs a doctor.”

“No.”

At once, Spike and Riley looked at Buffy as her eyelids fluttered open and she shook her head.

“No doctor,” she pleaded. “Mom would freak out.”

She tried to sit up, but Spike stopped her with a gentle hand on her shoulder.

“OK. No doctor. But I still need to take care of you, so keep still.”

She gave him a faint smile and reached up to caress his cheek. Only then did Spike realize he was still in full vampire regalia, and he struggled to return to his human features.

“I don’t mind,” she murmured, surprising him, but before he could reply, Riley reminded them of his presence.

“I have medical training.”

Spike glared at him, ready to tell him where exactly he could shove his medical training, but the ex-soldier spoke again.

“It’s not about us being unable to stand each other. It’s about Buffy and a really nasty looking wound.”

Clenching his teeth, Spike turned his eyes back to her, from her slightly frowning brow to her bared abdomen. Blood, too much blood. Not to the point of being dangerous, or at least he didn’t think so; but still, it was too much for comfort, especially for a vampire who craved a taste of human blood. Without looking at him, he thrust the first aid kit in Riley’s direction, hating himself for what he was doing.

Spike held Buffy’s hand as Riley efficiently cleaned, disinfected, and carefully bandaged. She endured it all without a word, eyes closed and lips pinched tight, as tight as she squeezed Spike’s hand. He could have done just as well, he told himself. And he should have, rather than let the wanker do it.

“Done?” he coldly asked as Riley put the tape back in the kit box.

“Yes. I still think a doctor…”

“She doesn’t want a doctor. Now get out.”

“Spike!”

Pulling her hand free, Buffy sat up gingerly and looked at him with something like a cross between annoyance and reprobation. Then she pointedly turned a much kinder gaze to Riley, and Spike seethed.

“Thank you,” she told Riley, and he nodded.

“No problem. Although, I still say you should see a doctor. And you’d better rest for a few days. The gang and I can take patrol for you.”

Spike was about to decline the offer – he would patrol, there was no need for the others and, especially, Riley to volunteer – but before he could do more than open his mouth, Buffy threw him a long-suffering look that said she knew exactly what he was thinking.

“Thanks for that too,” she said, returning her attention to Riley. Spike could have growled when the wanker smiled.

“Did you have to be so nice to him?” he asked sulkily when, a little while later, he slowly walked Buffy home.

“It’s called being polite, Spike,” she replied indulgently. “I’m sure you have heard of the notion.”

He was ready to protest that she didn’t need to be _that_ polite, especially with Riley, but the sudden pained gasp she let out worried him.

“I could carry you,” he offered again. “You shouldn’t be walking so far.”

“I’m alright, really,” she reassured him with a tense smile. “And please don’t let anything slip in front of my mom. She’s got enough headaches without me adding to it.”

Spike repressed the urge to tighten the arm that supported her waist when he heard the worry in her voice. Instead, he brushed his lips to her temple.

He tried to get her to talk about the fight, and why it had ended with her own stake used against her, but it was soon obvious that she didn’t know any more than he did. That bit of knowledge did not make for a restful night.

*****

Buffy spent her afternoon at the Magic Box, but as hours trickled by and afternoon turned into early evening, she became tired, a little exasperated, and was not one step closer to understanding why she had stumbled the previous night, and come so close to being yet another Slayer fallen in the line of duty. She had never trained so hard in her life, had never been in better shape, and yet… She wasn’t sure she wanted to know what would have happened if Spike hadn’t been there.

She had thought that a little research would give her some insights as to what had made other Slayers’ last battles special, but the many books around her weren’t helping, and Giles had just nailed down why.

“Accounts of the final battles would be very helpful. But there's no one left to tell the tales.”

That was it. She wouldn’t find her answer in books, because, for obvious reasons, none of the Slayers who had been called and had died to date had ever left an account of her last battle, and why exactly she had lost. Why she had slipped up, as Buffy had done the previous night, although not with as deadly consequences in her case.

“You two are on a research rampage,” Spike suddenly said from behind Buffy, coming out of the back room. “If I had known, I’d have shown up a lot later.”

Realization struck Buffy as she watched him come closer, all smirk and swagger. He came straight to her and gave her a quick kiss before turning his attention to the piles of books. A quick glance toward Giles was enough to let Buffy know that he had just had the same idea, and as one, they looked at Spike again. He had picked up one of the Watcher’s diaries Buffy had been reading and was paging through it; he seemed to realize that both Buffy and Giles were looking at him intently, and a cautious expression passed over his features as he put the book down.

“What?” he asked, frowning.

“You’ve killed two Slayers,” Giles said coolly, calm enough that his voice held no apparent trace of reproach. Spike however clearly was not comfortable with the turn the conversation was taking.

“I did,” he replied warily.

“You’re gonna show me how,” Buffy jumped in, and if things hadn’t been so serious the shock on Spike’s face might have been almost comical.

Half an hour later, nothing seemed even remotely comical as Spike continued to refuse to talk to her about the Slayers he had killed. At Buffy’s request, Giles had left them alone in the store a little while earlier, but whereas she had thought a little privacy would allow Spike to open to her, he stubbornly declined to answer her questions. It wouldn’t be long until she pushed too much and he left. She had to get through his defenses first. She needed to.

“I just don’t understand why you don’t want to help me,” she pleaded, trying another approach, as she returned the last book where it belonged on the shelf in the mezzanine. “I would have thought you’d want to do anything to help keep me safe.”

She glanced down at him; he was sitting at the research table and had lit a cigarette. Giles wouldn’t have liked it – and neither did Buffy – but she chose not to antagonize him.

“I will do anything to keep you safe,” he grumbled, his fingers tracing the lines of the wood table in front of him. “But you can’t ask me…”

“And yet I am,” she cut in. “Why won’t you just tell me? I need to understand why you beat them. _How_ you beat them. So it won’t happen to me.”

His eyes rose toward her, unreadable through the blue smoke of his cigarette. She itched to join him, but her instinct warned her to give him some space, so she sat down at the top of the ladder, wincing when the movement pulled at her wound.

“I’ll tell you,” he finally said after long seconds of silence. “But only if you promise that it won’t change a thing between us.”

“Why would it?”

He snorted and shook his head. “And that just proved to me that you have no clue…”

“Fine, fine, I promise. Whatever you say tonight will not change anything between us; I promise.”

He considered her a little longer, and finally tilted his head to one side, accepting her word.

“So, what d’you want to know exactly?” he asked tiredly.

She refrained from saying ‘everything’, and instead tried to give him somewhere to start.

“How about you tell me how a gentleman became a fighter skilled enough to take down two Slayers?”

Her words startled him enough to send him into fits of coughing, and his eyebrows shot to the ceiling.

“I’ve met William, remember?” she said with a smile. “The cursed chocolate? The poem you wrote for me?”

“ _He_ wrote,” Spike said strongly. “Not me. And please don’t tell me you kept…”

Her face must have betrayed her because he groaned and closed his eyes. Buffy made a mental note to move the poem from her jewelry box to a more secure location, just in case Spike decided to try to retrieve it.

“So?” she prodded. “Did you learn to fight while you were still human?”

Spike snickered. “Hell no. I… _He_ was as innocent as a sacrificial lamb. No clue about the world, about women, about how to fight back, be it with words or fists.”

Despite her better judgment, Buffy was about to interrupt him and object that William had seemed more than willing to offer his help and protection, but Spike seemed to guess her argument and waved it away impatiently.

“Sure, he was ready to fight to protect a lady. Or at least, he was ready to try. But that doesn’t mean I had any idea how to go about it. Might have been why Drusilla chose me. So she’d have someone to mold, I guess. Except that she tired of that rather quickly and Angelus had to step in.”

He paused then, taking a long drag on his cigarette, and Buffy once more refrained from talking and commenting on how fast he had switched from ‘he’ to ‘I’. William wasn’t that far, whatever Spike wanted others – and himself – to believe.

“He wasn’t the same Angelus you had to deal with,” he continued somberly. “Mine was a tad less insane, for one thing. Still a complete bastard, but I think that’s one trait that’s true of all of his incarnations.”

He gave a half chuckle at his own joke before resuming his tale. “He taught me a lot of things. Fighting was one of them, even if he demonstrated more often on me than he did on humans or other vamps. He tried to teach me, also, that nothing I did would ever be enough. That I’d always be less than him, because he was older, he knew more, and Dru…”

Another pause, another deep drag on the cigarette.

“Must have been when I decided I’d show him. Do the one thing that he had never done. Kill a Slayer.”

His eyes, staring straight ahead, seemed unfocused, and Buffy wondered what he was seeing exactly.

“Took me years, to find one. But I was obsessed, I’d have searched ‘til the end of the world. And I did, didn’t I?”

He blinked, and his gaze was back on her, smiling a little too sadly for Buffy’s taste. She didn’t let herself be touched by it, though, and urged him on.

“The Slayer in China, Spike. How did you kill her?”

Before she had even finished speaking, Spike stood and literally jumped up toward her, catching the railing on her right with one hand as the other cupped Buffy’s face with surprising gentleness. Startled, she remained frozen in front of him.

“Lesson the first,” he said calmly, “a Slayer must always reach for her weapon. I’ve already got mine.”

With his words, Buffy was suddenly acutely aware that she did not have a stake with her, and Spike’s features rippling right in front of her into his demon visage did nothing to ease her discomfort. She had to forcibly remind herself that this was _Spike,_ her boyfriend, and he would not hurt her, however upsetting going through old memories seemed to be for him.

As suddenly as he had leapt up to her, he was on the store’s floor again, graceful and sleek as a big cat, back to his blue eyes and handsome features. Buffy missed a few of his words as she tried to force her heart to calm down. He lit a second cigarette before beginning to talk about the fight and the kill. From cold and detached, his voice grew in intensity, and when he was done, an unpleasant shiver ran through Buffy as she realized what it was exactly that she was hearing in his voice.

“You got off on it,” she voiced, realizing too late the distaste that had filtered into her words when Spike’s head whipped toward her, his eyes dark and cold.

“I did. Don’t you? When you go out and hunt by yourself, isn’t it the same rush as when…”

“It’s not.”

Her cheeks began to burn, and she wasn’t sure whether it was at her own lie or in anger at his words. The idea that he could associate killing a Slayer with what they shared…

“See,” he gestured toward her with his cigarette, “that’s exactly why I didn’t want to tell you. You promised, Buffy. This doesn’t change anything.”

She nodded tightly. “I promised. But I still don’t know how you managed to kill them. Nothing you said…”

His growl was clearly one of frustration, and he turned his back on her to walk to the backroom.

“So that’s it?” she called after him. “Lesson over?”

He glanced back and shook his head. “Not even close. Come on.”

As he disappeared in the back, Buffy hesitated before following him. What he had told her so far was not, far from it, what she had been expecting, and she was more than a little anxious about where this would end. Still, he was her best shot at trying to understand what had made past Slayers fall, and she couldn’t give up now.

He was standing on the middle of the exercise mat when she joined him, and everything in his demeanor screamed ‘predator’.

“Lesson the second, luv. Ask the right questions. You want to know how I beat them?”

Without a second thought, she came closer to him, wondering if at last he would give her the answer she had asked for.

”The question isn't, how'd I win? The question is, why did they lose?”

She shook her head, confused by his word games. “What's the difference?”

His fist flew toward her face, stopping only an inch or so before hitting her. Buffy didn’t flinch or move. She could have, had she wanted to. But she knew, with an absolute certainty, that Spike would not touch her.

“There's a big difference, luv,” he stated, and his words only irritated Buffy further. She had asked a simple question, and she still hadn’t gotten her answer.

“How did you kill the second one?” she asked, her tone colder than she wanted it.

“A bit like this.”

Only when Spike launched a flurry of punches at her, all easily ducked, did Buffy realize that despite his actions the chip wasn’t punishing him. As her eyes widened, she was too baffled to say a word. Spike however seemed to understand her confusion and he stopped his attack.

“Just testing a theory. Apparently if I don’t want to hurt you, if I don’t really try, then the damn chip never activates.”

Filing the bit of information in her mind for later, Buffy refused to follow that train of thought. He was trying to distract her but she wouldn’t let him.

“It still doesn’t tell me how you killed them.”

Head tilted, he considered her for long enough that Buffy grew tired of waiting and started to turn away. He didn’t want to answer, he had made it clear, and maybe she shouldn’t have insisted.

“You're not ready to know,” he said abruptly, and caught her wrist before she could move away.

She faced him again, chin high and resolute. “I am ready.”

”Okay, then. Went like this.”

Before she knew what was going on, Spike had used his hold to send her to the floor. Judging by the chip’s lack of reaction and his little explanation, he certainly had no will to harm her, but the wound in her middle throbbed and sent both pain and adrenaline coursing through her. She reacted on instinct and fought back, not actively trying to hurt him but refusing to let him play with her.

They had fought like this before, but somehow this reminded Buffy more of their first real battle, in the old high school than it did of their sparring sessions. Especially with his running commentary.  
“The first was all business but the second, she had a touch of your style… She was cunning, resourceful... oh, did I mention? Hot. I could have danced all night with that one.”  
Jealousy flared through Buffy; at no moment did she realize that she was jealous of a dead woman; a woman Spike had killed.  
“You think we're dancing?” she spat.  
“That's all we've ever done, luv.”  
He stopped fighting, then, took a couple of steps back. His next words were quiet, but the intensity of his voice remained the same. “That’s all you ever do. Every day you fight, and for you it never ends. It only does for your prey. I _know_ you’ve wondered. That final gasp. That look of peace. Part of you is desperate to know, what's it like?”  
He paused, for no more than an instant, and Buffy struggled to grasp the meaning of his words. What was he trying to say?  
“You asked how I killed them, luv. That’s not what matters. What does matter is that both of them were ready to die. They had dealt too much death, they wanted peace in return. They died because they had a death wish, Buffy. And I’m afraid you…”  
“No!”  
He was too calm as he spoke of death. Too casual. As if it didn’t matter to him, but then why would the death of two women he had killed decades earlier have bothered him? Because they had been Slayers, like Buffy was? She could have kicked herself. No soul. No guilt. Of course, they didn’t matter to him.

“Tell me one thing, luv. That one time, when I bit you… you didn’t fight back. You could have, but you didn’t. Did you…”

“Don’t you dare even say it,” she practically growled. “I do _not_ have a death wish.”

“I’m not saying you do now. I’m asking…”

She raised a hand toward him palm out and fingers spread, and he fell silent.

“Don’t,” she pleaded.

Refusing to even hear even one more word about it, she retreated toward the back door. She realized she was fleeing, but somehow that seemed like the best – no, the only – solution.

“Slayer,” he called out, his voice tight with what she wasn’t sure was controlled anger or pain. “You promised.”

Pausing with her hand on the door handle, she glanced back at him.

“This is not what I asked for, Spike.”

“That’s the only truth I have for you.”

“Then you can keep it. And while you’re at it, keep away from me.”

The words were out of her mouth before she knew what she was saying, and she watched, heart wrenched, as his face changed to a mask of pure pain. She would have taken it back if she had only known how.

“Buffy…”

“Just… just give me a little time.”

Her hand finally tugged at the handle and she slipped out, unaware that Spike had fallen to his knees behind her. She hurried home, coming close to running at times, but his words followed her; and with each step, it was harder to refuse to hear them. Harder, also, to ignore that they made too much sense. Harder to deny that, maybe, just maybe, he was right, and she had had a death wish before. And might get one again some day.

*****

_I had known this would happen. I had been so bloody sure of it, and yet I went ahead with it and told her what she thought she wanted to know. Sometimes, I swear I could stake myself._

_No, I couldn’t have told her about all that bloody mess any other way. I gave her what she wanted, even if it was more than she could safely swallow. Yes, I was brutal about it. But think about it for a second. Do you think she would have liked it any better if I had held her hand and pretended to feel guilty about what I had done? I doubt she would have bought it. She knows me better than that. If I had still been souled, maybe, but not at that moment. No, she would have suspected I wasn’t being truthful, and she would have questioned me even more when it came down to why the Slayers I killed had died. She was in enough denial as it was, I wasn’t going to give her any more ammunitions._

_So, I told her. Plain and simple. And as I had thought, she lashed back at me._

_I watched her leave and had to restrain myself from going after her. In the mood she was in – hell, in the mood I was in – things would have gotten even worse than they already were, there was no doubt in my mind about it. What hurt most, I think, was that she had promised this wouldn’t happen. She had promised that, whatever I said, it wouldn’t change anything between us. And it had, like I knew it would. Fuck._

_I went back to my crypt, intending to sleep on it all and give her the time she had asked for. When I got there, I realized I wouldn’t be able to sleep; I was too damn agitated for that. Getting plastered wouldn’t have helped either, and surprisingly enough I wasn’t in the mood for patrol and a bit of violence. I had to go to her and try to fix things right away. And I did._

_All the way to Revello, I rehearsed in my head what I would tell her. It wasn’t exactly my most tender speech; and I could already predict that there would be some shouting. But if that was what it took to shake some sense into her, I was ready for it._

_She was on the back porch when I arrived there. When I noticed she was crying, my carefully prepared words vanished, along with all the anger and disappointment our confrontation had brought forth. I hadn’t imagined she’d be crying, it just didn’t fit with the way she had left. So why?_

_I asked her what was wrong, but she refused to answer. Asked if it was about me and stifled a relieved sigh when she said no. I wasn’t sure how she would react but I stepped closer and finally sat down on the steps next to her. She froze for an instant, and when I rested my hand on her back and rubbed lightly, her tears only redoubled and broke my heart. I didn’t care, then, that I was supposed to be mad at her, that she might still be mad at me. I didn’t care about anything but that my girl was hurting and I didn’t know why. I grabbed her waist and pulled her onto my lap. She resisted at first, but after a second or two, she gave up, buried her face in my neck and held on to me as tightly as I held on to her. Little by little, the sobs that rocked her body and the tears that trickled inside my collar became fewer, until she was completely still in my arms._

_“It’s mom,” she murmured then, her voice muffled against me, and I knew not to ask anything more for now._

_We stayed like this a while longer, my hand caressing her hair, her breathing so regular that I knew she would fall asleep in time. I eventually stood, still cradling her. She tried to have me put her down, but I shushed her and she let me carry her inside. I was quiet as a mouse as I went up the steps; both Dawn and Joyce were asleep, thankfully._

_Once in her room, I sat her on the edge of her bed and closed the door. I helped her undress, careful of the bandage on her stomach. Blood stained it and it needed changing, probably a result of our impromptu bout of sparring earlier. She directed me to the medical supplies in her dresser and allowed me to change the bandage for her. I tried to show her, with every gesture, how much she meant to me, and how sorry I was that what I had said had upset her. But I couldn’t apologize, not when she had made a promise and then reneged it. Not when every word I had given her had been nothing but the truth._

_When I was done, I helped her slip into her PJs and under her covers. I leaned to kiss her forehead goodnight, and she took my hand._

_“Stay,” she whispered, meeting my eyes for the first time since she had walked away from me. I could tell I wasn’t the only one sorry about the way things had gone. I stayed._

_I undressed, hesitating but finally keeping my jeans on, and slid in next to her. She snuggled into her favorite resting spot, against the crook of my shoulder, and murmured a thank you. After a little while, she told me about her mum going to the hospital the next day. Funny how medical words you hear on stupid shows on the telly take a whole other meaning when they relate to someone you know and love._

_Eventually, she fell asleep. I stayed with her for most of the night. Didn’t catch a minute of sleep myself though, there was too much going on in my head for that. Buffy getting hurt, me revealing more to her about myself than I should have, her getting spooked by my words, her mom…_

_It was hard to leave her, and I finally left her a note, telling her I’d try to get to the hospital, and that I loved her._

_The sun was beginning to lighten the horizon when I jumped out of the window. I doubted Buffy would have wanted to explain my presence to her mom in the morning, so the least I could do was save her the headache. I had to run all the way back to my crypt, and even then I was starting to smoke when I arrived there. Not exactly pleasant. But if that was the price to pay for a night spent comforting my Slayer… Hell, I’d have paid a lot more than that.  
_


	10. The Darkness Inside

Even though the note he had left on her bedside table had said he would try to come to the hospital, Buffy had not really expected Spike to be there. Or rather, she had refused to let herself expect him. The sky was cloudy, but not enough to make a casual stroll to the hospital safe for him. He told her, later, that he had taken the tunnels from his crypt to the basement of the hospital. It was at least one less thing to worry about.

She couldn’t help but tense when he first reached out to her, his hand closing gently over her shoulder from behind. She instantly relaxed though, as her body recognized Spike’s touch and she turned to him.

“You came,” were her first words to him, accompanied with a smile that he returned as he brushed her hair behind her ear.

“Of course I came. You thought I’d let you go through this all alone?”

“The sun…” she started pointing out weakly, but stopped when something on his face told her he knew exactly what she really thought.

“Listen, about yesterday…”

Again, she couldn’t go any farther. With her mom’s health troubles, Buffy hadn’t had time to think about everything that Spike had told her about past Slayers and what it meant to her.

“We need to talk about it,” Spike agreed grimly. “But not now. It can wait. Right?”

She nodded, grateful that he wasn’t pushing the issue, just as she was grateful that he had showed up the previous night despite her request that he stay away from her. She hadn’t meant it, but she still had said it, and she needed, if only for herself, to understand why. However, as he had said, it could wait.

“How’s your mum?”

Slayer issues returned to the back of her mind, replaced in the forefront by what mattered more than anything at the moment. “The doctor is talking with her. I was about to go in.”

She paused; having him close was good, but she wasn’t the only one needing comfort. Funny how only days earlier she would have fought to keep him away from Dawn, and now sharing his presence didn’t feel so bad.

“Would you stay with Dawn while I check in on my mom?” she asked him. “She’s in the waiting room.”

A kiss to her forehead was his answer, and he squeezed her hand before moving back. Buffy watched him go, then steeled herself and entered the exam room.

*****

Even as the gang researched the mysterious woman who had attacked Buffy, Giles couldn’t help but wonder if, maybe, they should know about Dawn. He understood all too well Buffy’s reasons for wanting to keep quiet about a sister who wasn’t really her sister, but if the woman was looking for her, for a Key, whatever that was, the information might be important. It could be the extra hint they needed to finally put a name on their enemy, and knowing her name would help greatly. He would need to talk to Buffy about it, once the worries about Joyce’s health were a thing of the past. He really didn’t want to add to her burden until then.

He pondered also telling her what the gang had mentioned about Riley taking too many risks on patrol. If he became reckless enough to put his life, and maybe others’, in danger, something would need to be done. Maybe a friendly discussion with Xander would be enough, though. If it wasn’t, there would still be time to put some sense back into him later.

With a slight shake of his head, Giles returned to the matter at hand; a blonde woman with extraordinary strength, whose name they needed to discover if they were ever to find out anything else about her.

*****

Earlier, Buffy had thought that waiting without knowing anything at all was the worst thing possible. Now, she knew she had been wrong. Waiting to know what the ‘shadow’ in her mother’s brain was, that was the worst thing possible. She could only be grateful for small mercies. Grateful that they had been able to take her mom in for exploratory surgery right away, so they wouldn’t wait for long without knowing. Grateful that Dawn had fallen asleep, curled up in a chair under Spike’s duster. Grateful for the comforting shoulder she was leaning on, for the hand caressing her hair. She tried to keep herself strong for Dawn’s sake, and it felt somehow easier to do when she knew Spike was there, as he always seemed to be when she needed him.

A doctor approached the waiting area and she jumped to her feet when she realized it was her mother’s surgeon. As she went to talk to him, she would have wanted Spike to stay with Dawn and to make sure she remained out of earshot; but she wasn’t surprised when instead, he came with her to the doctor. He would have heard every word if he had remained with Dawn, Buffy was sure of it; yet, he was right there, a step behind her. Even though she said nothing, she was, again, grateful for his support and the careful arm that wove around her middle. She was even more grateful when the news turned out to be anything but good.

She was shaken, too much so to think, but the surgeon didn’t seem to realize and kept asking her questions that didn’t seem to make any sense. They had sat down again, but Spike’s arm was still around her. She was startled to hear him speak and interrupt the doctor.

“Listen, doc,” he said in a tightly controlled voice, “we appreciate what you’re doing for Joyce, but give us a moment to breathe, OK?”

Buffy wanted to protest, but she eventually kept quiet as the doctor excused himself and gave Spike a small smile of thanks.

“Wanker,” she heard him murmur as he watched the doctor walk away. “You’d think a dozen decades would teach these gits to show a little more compassion, huh?”

She started asking him what he meant, but the unexpected arrival of another doctor stopped her. Ben was pleasant as usual, but he appeared to catch on to who Spike was and that realization seemed to dampen his friendliness. He did suggest that Buffy take some time away from the hospital, and his words gave her an idea. If science was not sure about how to help her mother, maybe a spell would be more efficient.

She knew how Spike felt about magic, so she didn’t tell him why she wanted to go to the Magic Box. She felt a little guilty abandoning him and Dawn, but if she had a chance to help her mother, she had to try.

*****

Buffy had not even disappeared from his sight and Spike was already dismissing her request. It would have been torture for Dawn to go to school now; and if Buffy hadn’t been so upset, she would have realized it. On the other hand, that irritating wanker had been right; staying in the hospital for hours waiting for Joyce to awaken wouldn’t help either. That left one option, which Spike was sure Dawn would agree to; and for the first time that day, a smile tugged at her lips when he told her. Until she realized that going to his crypt from the hospital involved going through tunnels and sewers.

“Why can’t I just go outside and join you there?” she protested. “It’s not like vamps are going to get me during the day.”

“Told your sister I’d keep an eye on you,” Spike pointed out again. “And it’s not like all bad things wait for the night to eat little girls. And that’s without counting humans, and those don’t have tentacles or bumpies to warn you to stay away from them.”

She let out a resigned sigh that was followed by more all the way to the crypt, until Spike announced that he had ice-cream in his freezer; at that point, she seemed to become much more tolerant of the dusty passageways Spike was leading her through. He chose a longer way through the maze that was Sunnydale’s underground and managed to spare Dawn a closer look at the town’s sewer system.

They made small talk when they arrived and Spike offered his guest the grand tour of his home. He managed to nudge a forgotten piece of her sister’s underwear under the bed before she could notice it, and led her to the upper level before anything more compromising could be found. Only after she had taken a seat on the sofa, with her legs drawn up under her and a small carton of Buffy’s favorite ice cream in her hands did she ask what had obviously been on her mind since the hospital.

“Is mom going to get better?”

Her voice did not tremble as she said the words, but her bottom lip did as she waited for an answer. It would have been easy to pretend and turn on the optimism. Easy for the moment, but much less when she learned about the gravity of Joyce’s illness, and even worse if…

“I don’t know, Bit. I don’t think anyone does right now.”

It wasn’t what she had hoped to hear; it was clear on her crestfallen features. But she nodded and said: “Thank you. For not lying to me.”

Her gaze dropped to the ice cream carton and she poked at it with her plastic spoon. At a loss for words, Spike reached to brush a strand of her hair away from her face.

“Buffy is always keeping things from me,” she continued quietly after a few seconds. “It’s like she thinks I can’t understand stuff, so she tell me pretty lies. Does she think I’m stupid?”

Despite everything, Spike was a little amused and wanted to smile. Even now, sisterly quarrels weren’t forgotten, it seemed.

“She doesn’t think you’re stupid,” he assured her. “My bet is, it’s the contrary. You’re too clever for your own good and Buffy doesn’t want you to get worried over every little thing. You know she loves you. She wants you happy.”

“Yeah, well, I think you shouldn’t keep stuff from the people you love. It’s not fair to them. Don’t you think?”

Large doe eyes looked up at him and for a second, Spike had an eerie feeling that Dawn was talking about him, that she could tell there were things he was keeping from Buffy. He caught himself before giving himself away. Of course, she didn’t know. They were dreams – nightmares – nothing more.

“It’s not fair, no, but sometimes it is the best way not to hurt someone.”

“But what about when they find out?” she pressed on. “Wouldn’t they be even more hurt?”

He shook his head at her insistence. “Dawn…”

“Like, if someone’s girlfriend was training in secret with a person this someone really didn’t like, wouldn’t it be bad that the girlfriend said nothing?”

Finally, he understood what all of this was about, and he felt stupid about not having realized it sooner. She wasn’t talking hypothetically. She wasn’t talking either about him keeping things from Buffy. It was the opposite; she was talking about Buffy not telling him that she trained with Riley. Forcing a smile to his lips was difficult, but he managed to do it in what he hoped was a convincing way.

“It would be bad,” he conceded, “unless this someone knew what was going on and was cool with it.”

She seemed rather skeptical, but she nodded before returning to her poking and twirling of the half-melted ice cream. Spike’s forced smile disappeared instantly. He had suspected, of course, he wasn’t completely clueless, but to know for sure – to be told like this – was far from pleasant. He shook off the distaste that the simple thought of Finn was bringing forth and focused on the idea that Buffy wouldn’t need the wanker as a sparring partner anymore; not now that they knew Spike could fight with her as long as it was without the intent to harm her.

For the next couple of hours, they watched cartoons and soap operas on the telly, both of them quiet as they battled internal demons. When it was time at last to bring Dawn to the Magic Box where Buffy expected her to be, Spike asked her to answer she had been to school, if anyone inquired.

“See, small lies don’t hurt,” he told her with a lopsided grin, and she returned it in kind.

They took the tunnels again, but while Spike entered the shop through the back room, he made Dawn walk around to the front door, winking at her when, once inside, they pretended they hadn’t been together for the past hours. Her lightheartedness disappeared again when Spike asked about Buffy and was drawn out of Dawn’s earshot by Giles. More secrets that were meant to protect, but they would also bruise a delicate heart.

In as few words as possible, the Watcher told him about the situation. The demoness had visited the store. Buffy had gone after her. A loose snake monster was somewhere out there. Had the sun been down, Spike would have gone out hunting. But since evening was still a long time off, he went to the backroom, both to release some pent up energy and train. He wanted to be at his top form to spar with his Slayer and help her with that demon girl.

*****

In hindsight, Riley realized that he should have known it wasn’t Buffy he could hear beating up the punching bag in the backroom. He had seen how badly she had been hurt two nights before; she would certainly need more time than that to recuperate.

But at that moment, having just finished listening to Xander’s mild reproach about dealing with a vampires’ nest by himself, Riley didn’t stop to think about who might or might not be in the backroom. He just went there. And immediately regretted it.

“Soldier boy. Just the person I wanted to see.”

He bit back the stinging comment that was rising to his lips about Spike only being able to beat inanimate objects and raised his chin high as the vampire approached, smirking.

“What do you want?”

“Just to tell you your services aren’t needed anymore. I’ll be training with the Slayer from now on.”

Riley snorted. “Training? You mean you’ll serve as her punching bag? You can’t even strike back…”

“Actually, I can,” Spike cut in, grinning so widely that Riley thought he caught sight of a fang. “So back off, heh? Like the good boy you are.”

Something snapped in Riley at the condescending tone directed at him and, taking one step closer to Spike, he glared down at him.

“You back off, Spike,” he warned icily. “I know what you’re up to and I won’t let you hurt her. Hear me? You’ll have to kill me before you get to her.”

Spike shook his head and actually laughed.

“Newsflash, wanker. I already have her. And if you still think you have half a shadow of a chance, you’re even more deluded than I thought. Face it, Buffy's got a type, and you're not it. She likes us dangerous, rough, occasionally bumpy in the forehead region. Not that she doesn't like you ... but sorry Charlie, you're just not dark enough.”

Riley’s fists closed and shook as he controlled himself. Hitting Spike now – or even dusting him – would certainly be a relief, but it wouldn’t help him in the slightest with Buffy. He needed her to see that her so-called boyfriend was up to no good, and then he would dust him.

“We’ll see about that,” he muttered, his eyes shooting daggers at Spike. “And you will regret ever meeting me.”

“Already do,” Spike shot back flippantly, turning his back on Riley to return to the punching bag. “Now sod off. Wanker.”

A stake was in Riley’s hand before Spike had even finished talking, and it was harder than ever to stop. He was a vampire, nothing more; he should have been staked like the others a long time before. Controlling himself, Riley left the room and the store, doors banging after him. Not dark enough, was he? He would show her. He would show all of them.

*****

_Lousy day if there ever was one.  
_  
 _The news about Joyce. Buffy and Dawn’s distress. Finn’s wankery. Glory’s hunting party. Except, we didn’t get to that point yet, did we?_

_Big snake, crashing through the Magic Box window, looking around and running off before we could kill it… I didn’t understand that it had found exactly what it had been created to find. None of us did, except Buffy and Giles. They knew. We didn’t._

_I started going out with them after the snakey thing, but the Slayer stopped me, asked me to stay with Dawn and the others, and make sure they were safe. What she meant, of course, was for me to protect Dawn if the snake came back. I only understood that long after, when it finally came out that Glory wanted Dawn._

_When she came back, her hands were bruised, her knuckles bleeding. She had gotten some of the anger and frustration out. I did the same thing, that night, after I had accompanied both Summers girls home from the hospital. I told Buffy I’d take patrol for her, and I basically went out and beat up anything vaguely demonic that I could find. It helped. A little._

_I couldn’t help myself, I went back to Revello after that. Smoked a cigarette or ten under Buffy’s window. Her window was open; I debated joining her. Take a guess. Do you think I did?_  
  
 _And as for Ben… I wish I could say I knew right away that there was something wrong with the git. But the truth is, I didn’t. There wasn’t a thing off about him. Didn’t smell like a demon or anything. Which, I suppose, is normal, seeing how he was human. Pity for him that he was stuck with a body-hiker._

_Oh, don’t get me wrong; I’m not saying I liked him. Quite the opposite, in fact. But it was based on how he had looked at Buffy, how he had talked to her. He had backed off when he had realized who I was, I gotta give him credit for that. But that didn’t change anything. I was still jealous as hell, with cause or without. My girl. End of story._

_I’ve heard it said that jealousy is a sign that I don’t trust her. That’s not it. I do trust her. I trust that she loves me, and I am quite sure that if she ever stopped, it would be because of something I did or didn’t do, not because a wanker had caught her eye. I am jealous because it’s in my nature to be. The demon inside me is quite proprietary; Buffy is his, period. It’s a good thing for her that the demon isn’t everything I am. Of course, I’ve come to notice that she doesn’t exactly dislike that jealous streak of mine. But that’s a tale for another time, I suppose._


	11. Fears

It wasn’t often that Giles felt the weight of his years; he prided himself on being in a fine shape, due in a large part to his regular training sessions with Buffy. However, that night, he was reminded quite abruptly that not only had he long ago left his twenties, but he also was not a Slayer.

Joyce was staying in the hospital and Buffy had asked the gang to take over patrol for the night so that she could spend more time with her. It wasn’t an exceptional occurrence in itself; Giles had patrolled with Willow and Xander often enough in the past to grant Buffy a night off. But it had rarely gone as badly as now, with the two men pinned to a crypt’s wall by a female vamp who had more muscles than the two of them combined. Willow came through, however, and staked the vampiress from behind with a giddy cry of exultation.

Immediately, laughter and clapping resounded behind Willow, and the three of them faced the approaching vampire. Spike looked thoroughly entertained even as he picked up Giles’ glasses from the ground and returned them to him.

“Well done, Red,” he praised Willow. “Excellent slaying technique. Been watching Buffy closely, have you?”

Sputtering and blushing, Willow punched Spike’s arm – or rather tried to; she lost her balance halfway through her swing and without Spike and Xander’s intervention would have become better acquainted with the ground.

“Not so good marks for the gentlemen, though,” Spike continued, his voice mock-scolding now. “I’m beginning to see why all Slayers are girls.”

Giles sighed heavily and rolled his eyes at the teasing, while Xander shook his finger at Spike but did not actually come up with a retort.

“At least we were fighting,” Giles pointed out coolly. “Not watching like other people who shall remain unnamed.”

“Or playing no-show like some others,” Willow added.

Spike shrugged and pulled his cigarettes from his duster, quickly lighting one.

“Would have helped if you had needed me,” he said. “Which you didn’t. As for Buffy, don’t you know she’s at the hospital with her mum?”

“Of course we know,” Xander replied. “That’s why we’re doing this, isn’t it? Will was not-naming a certain Riley Finn who had promised he’d be here.”

Spike’s brow furrowed at the mention of Riley, as it always did, but he did not push the subject.

“And why are you here anyway?” Willow questioned abruptly, poking a finger at the vampire’s chest. “Why aren’t you with Buffy?”

For an instant, there was a curious mix of feelings on Spike’s features, clear annoyance as he glared at the offending finger, surprise, and almost, Giles thought he saw, pleasure, at Willow’s words. What could he find so extraordinary in what she had said? Giles understood when he heard Spike’s falsely gruff answer.

“Summers girls’ night, didn’t want to impose my presence. Plus I supposed you lot would need a hand.”

How long had it been, since Spike had begun patrolling with them? How long since they had started accepting him as one of the gang? How long since they had even accepted his relationship with Buffy? Was it still so hard for him to understand that they had truly welcomed him into the group? Giles didn’t know what else they could do to prove it to the stubborn man. And suddenly, he felt even older as he realized that even Spike, with his hundred plus years of existence, was still behaving like the other young people, hiding insecurities behind tough manners.

*****

The next night, Spike did a short patrol before going to the hospital, as he had promised the gang he would. He was still surprised at his own reaction to Willow’s words. The Scoobies had been very tolerant of his relationship with Buffy, more so than he had thought they would be, and he still had a little trouble taking their acceptance at face value. To hear in such a casual manner that his place was with Buffy had been… exhilarating. Maybe it was finally starting to sink in that they truly had no hidden objections to his inclusion in the group.

Just as he arrived to Joyce’s room, the three Summers ladies were preparing to check out, and after a kiss and a hug, Buffy explained that they were taking her mother home until it was time for the surgery. He volunteered as a chauffeur, earning a pout from Buffy at the implied comment about her driving skills, and causing Dawn to chuckle almost all the way from the hospital to Revello Drive. No one felt like laughing anymore however once they got out of the car.

“Don’t touch me!” Joyce shrieked. “You vile demon! Corrupting everything you touch, killing everyone you pretend to love! You should be burned at the stake!”

Startled and more than a little hurt, Spike let go of Joyce’s arm where he had been supporting her to guide her to the house. She had uttered a couple of puzzling statements earlier, but this was different. It was clearly directed at him, and the words had a ring of truth to them.

“She doesn’t mean it,” Buffy said quickly with an apologetic half-smile. “She doesn’t know what she’s saying…”

“What did I say?”

Joyce’s confused look reassured Spike somehow that she truly hadn’t meant the hurtful words.

“Nothing,” he tried to soothe her. “Let’s get you inside.”

Leaving Buffy to support her mother, he went ahead and opened the door, turning on the lights until Joyce protested that it was too bright. Dawn reached for his hand, as she entered after her sister and mother, and gave it a slight squeeze. She seemed as upset by Joyce’s temporary bouts of insanity as he was, and he squeezed her hand back, trying to reassure her a little.

After she had put Joyce in bed, Buffy returned downstairs. She looked tired already, and Spike couldn’t help but wonder how well taking care of Joyce at home until the operation was going to work.

“Want me to leave?” he suggested even though that was the last thing he wanted.

She shook her head. “Stay with us? At least for a little while?”

The three of them ended up on the sofa, Buffy’s head on Spike’s shoulder and Dawn’s on Buffy’s arm as they watched an old movie together. For a little while, it could have been easy to forget that everything wasn’t fine in the world; but Joyce wandering downstairs, clearly unaware of what she was doing or saying, put an end to that quiet feeling. It was Buffy’s turn to be on the receiving end of a hurtful tongue, and soon after that, Dawn’s. Spike ached for each of them, especially Dawn who seemed the most wounded. He and Buffy tried to talk to her and make it clear that Joyce hadn’t mean what she had said, but it didn’t make anything easier. What worried him the most though was that Buffy was taking all of it without hardly ever flinching. She was hiding too much pain, and while he understood why she did, he doubted it was good for her, or any of them.

*****

Her mother was finally in bed, but even from the kitchen Buffy could hear her senseless babble. Things were getting worse, there was no way to deny it, and she was beginning to regret bringing Joyce home. It had felt like a very good idea at the time, but more and more Buffy wondered if she would be able to take care of her. Not only that, but she had to think of Dawn.

Their mother’s ramblings had spooked Dawn earlier, and Spike was still upstairs with her, playing cards in an attempt to distract her. Hearing that it wasn’t the first time these kinds of words had been uttered to her sister had upset Buffy too. What if somehow Joyce had realized that Dawn wasn’t her daughter? What if she said it clearly enough that Dawn understood and…

Refusing to let that train of thought continue, Buffy pushed away from the kitchen counter she had been leaning on and set herself in motion. Not thinking seemed like the best thing she could do. There was too much going on, and little she could do about any of it for the moment, be it Joyce’s illness or Glory’s efforts to find Dawn. Flicking the radio on to drown her mother’s voice, she concentrated on washing the dishes. The feel of water felt nice on her hand, soothing. Yet somehow, it seemed to bring forth more water, now trickling on her cheeks. She couldn’t have given one reason for her tears, had she been asked. Instead, she could have given a dozen.

“Let it out, pet. Let it all out.”

The words were no louder than a whisper in the crook of her neck as Spike pressed against her back and encircled her with his arms. Louder sobs shook her body, and Buffy turned around to muffle them against his chest.

He stroked her hair with a gentle hand, stroked her soul with even gentler words. It felt safe at last to let go of everything she had been bottling up, all the fear she couldn’t quell and the demons she couldn’t slay. She cried and cried, until there were no tears left in her and her sobbing finally subsided. She remained in Spike’s arms even then, wanting to thank him but afraid that talking now would give way to another round of tears. Instead, she held him a little closer, and he seemed to understand because he murmured, “Love you too”, and that was all she needed to hear. They continued to hold on to each other, the only sound now her still ragged but gradually calming breathing.

A frantic shout from Dawn broke the silence, and all hell seemed to break loose.

The next minutes were a blur as Buffy rushed up the stairs, Spike only half a step behind her. They fought the creature that had invaded the house, luring it downstairs and away from Dawn and Joyce. They fumbled a little at first, they weren’t used to fighting together in such narrow spaces, but eventually the creature was dead, and Buffy was huddled against Spike again. Just for a second, she told herself. A second of comfort and then she would go check on her mom and Dawn, although from what she had briefly seen upstairs they seemed fine.

She was still in Spike’s arms when the front door brusquely flew open to give way to Riley and half a dozen commandos. She could feel Spike tense at the sight of what appeared to be the Initiative, second edition, and she suddenly was the one offering comfort to her upset lover.

*****

_  
Two days later, the damn bug from outer space was nothing but a bad memory and Joyce was back in the hospital, awaiting surgery._

_She talked to Dawn first, and when she came out of the room, the Bit was smiling despite the tears in her eyes. She and Buffy hugged, then it was Buffy’s turn to talk to her mum, and somehow Dawn transferred the hug to me. I wished I could have reassured her and told her everything would be fine. But after our talk about lying to protect other people, I didn’t feel like I had a right to pretend I knew any better than she did. Buffy stayed in there a few minutes; I could hear their voices on the edge of my consciousness, and I would only have needed to focus to understand what they were saying, but I did not invade their privacy._

_To my surprise, when Buffy came out she said Joyce wanted to talk to me. I’ll admit I entered that room not exactly in the best state of mind, unsure as to what to expect. Even knowing that Joyce hadn’t been herself when she had said those things about me, I found it hard to forget them, because they resonated too deeply with things I had thought or worried about myself. I wondered if she was going to apologize for them._

_Rather than to appear to be fidgeting, I kept my hands balled inside my pockets as I approached her bed, and gave her a hesitant smile that she returned instantly._

_“Spike. I’m glad you’re here.”_

_Unsure what to answer, I made some kind of noise that could pass for an agreement._

_“I mean, not here, here,” she added, frowning to herself. “Although, yes, I’m glad for that too. Buffy does everything she can to look strong but I know her, I know she appreciates your support. And so do I.”_

_Still nothing to say. It wasn’t the time or the place for me to express my wish that Buffy would lean more on me than she did._

_“I have a request for you,” she continued after a brief pause, and her seriousness made me guess that this was what she had wanted to see me for._

_“Anything,” I replied, and meant it. She smiled._

_“I’m sure I don’t need to ask you but… If something bad happens to me, will you please take care of my girls?”_

_I wanted to scold her for even thinking about it, but like with Dawn earlier, I couldn’t. None of us knew what would happen, and yes, it might be bad._

_“You know I will,” I assured her. “But I do hope you’ll be back to full form soon and swinging an axe at me so that I’ll stay away from your daughter.”_

_My attempt at humor fell flat as sorrow filled Joyce’s eyes._

_“I am sorry,” she murmured._

_“Joyce…”_

_“No, let me say this. Almost two years ago I tried to push you out of Buffy’s life because I thought… I thought she deserved better than you. I thought she’d be happier with someone normal. I believe now that I was wrong, and I am thankful that you didn’t listen to me. She’s happy with you, Spike. Keep her happy.”_

_Again, there wasn’t much I could say to that. I grinned like an idiot and thanked her. Somehow, her approval meant a lot to me. So much for the Big Bad, heh?_

_I almost told her, then, how I had lost my soul. Almost told her how much her affection, with the Bit’s and Buffy’s, meant to me. But a nurse entered and the moment was lost. It’s one of my biggest regrets, never having told her._

_They took her away, and the waiting started. The whole gang was there, even Riley; I played nice and ignored him like he ignored me. Although there was something off about him, a lingering scent of blood that would be explained soon enough._

_We waited for what felt like an eternity, and finally heard the good news; the surgery had gone perfectly and Joyce was tumor free._

_We didn’t know it at the time, of course, but that didn’t mean she was saved._


	12. Sweet Revenges

Slow, romantic music played in the background, and as Buffy danced with Spike in her candle lit living room, she felt like everything was perfect.

Her mother’s surgery had gone well, and she would soon be home. Glory had not shown herself again over the past few days. Dawn was spending the night at Anya and Xander’s place. And Buffy had the house – and the night – to share with her gorgeous boyfriend.

They had started with a nice dinner. That was, nice in the sense that they had tried to cook together, and ended up giggling like kids when all they could manage to do was a mess. At least dessert, in the form of ice cream, had been faultless, spoon-fed to each other between shared sticky kisses.

Spike had then offered to give her a massage, dropping not too subtle hints about where it could lead to, but Buffy had requested instead that they dance, pointing out that Spike himself had told her, not that long ago, that they ought to dance together more often. And that was what they had been doing for the past half hour or so, rocking together to the soft sound of the music, shutting out the rest of the world as they held in their arms what meant the most at that moment, each other.

The CD ended, but they continued to sway to the now silent echoes of the music, smiling to each other as they did so. The smiles turned into a kiss, tender passion soon flaring hot and bright; and Buffy pulled away before they both lost their mind.

“There’s something I wanna show you,” she breathed against his lips.

“There’s something I want to show you too,” he retorted, and the waggling of his eyebrow left little doubt as to what it was.

Chuckling, Buffy took his hand and pulled him after her, up the stairs and to her room, coming to a stop by the side of her bed.

“That’s my bed,” she announced, stifling a laugh when Spike looked at her as if she might have been struck by insanity.

“Yeah, so it is,” he replied cautiously. “Any reason why you wanted to show it to me? I’ve seen it before, you know.”

She nodded as she sat on the edge of the bed and pulled Spike to stand in front of her. Resting her hands at his waist, she looked up at him.

“You’ve seen it before,” she repeated. “You even slept in it with me. But you never made love to me in it.”

Something flared in his eyes, a hint of gold swirling in the blue, and he took a sharp intake of breath; a chill went down Buffy’s spine at the simple idea that she had that much power over him that a few words could provoke such a strong reaction.

“Undress me?”

Spike’s words were a whisper, as if he didn’t quite trust his voice yet, and Buffy grinned to herself. She had wanted this night to be special, and it already was, but suddenly things were reaching another notch. Her hands were trembling ever so slightly when they settled on the lowest button of his shirt – this light blue shirt she had gotten for him and that he was wearing for the first time. One by one, she unfastened the buttons, revealing a little more flesh with each one until she could tug at the sleeves and watch the cotton slide off him. For an instant, she contented herself with running her fingertips against his torso, his abs rippling beneath her touch and his nipples hardening, as did other parts of him just in front of her eyes.

Mindlessly, she licked her lips when she dropped her hands to the fastenings of his jeans, only realizing what she had done when he groaned and his hips jerked forward. She chuckled quietly at his reaction, but the laugh died in her throat when she unzipped his jeans and his cock appeared, hard and straining against his belly already. She threw a quick mischievous glance up at him as she flicked her tongue to the tip, and received in reply a low growl, his eyes closing tight. It didn’t last long however, as his hands on her shoulders prevented her from doing anything more.

“Tonight was about you,” he mumbled, his voice tense enough to break.

“But I want this,” she pouted, and sneaked a hand to give his cock a light tug and emphasize her point. “Besides, the night is still young, and it’s not like you ever had a problem recuperating before.”

He blinked, twice, and nodded eagerly. “Very good point, luv. Don’t let me stop you any longer.”

Grinning, she shook her head. “Let’s get you out of these clothes and more comfortable before…”

Her voice trailed off and she stopped, more baffled by vampire’s speed than ever before; Spike had already thrown off his shoes, worked his jeans past his knees and to his feet, and was now lying on the bed, hands beneath his head and smirking at her shamelessly.

She got rid of his smirk quite efficiently by climbing on the bed in between his legs and taking hold of his cock. She pumped her hand a few times, too slowly, too lightly to give Spike the amount of friction she knew he loved, but enough to make him want more. She gave him more in the form of her lips barely skimming along his shaft from the root to the glistening tip. Torture, he had once called this, but the good kind of torture. She added the barest hint of teeth when she parted her lips and took him in, and he let out a hiss that was definitely not one of pain.

“Taught you… too well,” he growled, the words turning to a mangled groan as she bobbed her head up and down in the mimicry of a nod. It was only the truth, after all. To her request, he had been almost blunt the first couple of times she had done this for him, making it clear what he liked and what he loved, so that she knew how to draw out his pleasure indefinitely if she chose to – or how to make him come hard, fast, and with a howl. It was the second alternative she picked this time; after all, Spike had said he wanted to take care of her, and it would have been selfish to deny him that.

*****

Purring quietly to himself, Spike stretched in the bed – in _her_ bed – careful not to move too much and wake her. A little nap had been necessary after a long night of tender lovemaking interspaced with a couple of rougher bits, and he was now rested and ready for more. But if he woke her now and started another round, he’d never leave her side.

When planning their little romantic evening, they had raised the question as to whether Spike would sleep at Revello or return to his crypt before morning. Sleeping there would have been nice, certainly, but it would have meant spending the day stuck in the Summers house while Buffy went to school and prepared for her mother’s return, or dodging the sunlight and taking a trek through the tunnels back to his crypt. They had agreed that he would leave before sunrise; there would be other evenings, other nights and other mornings for them to share and enjoy fully. Leaving also gave Spike the opportunity for a quick pre-dawn patrol, which soothed Buffy’s guilt about having shirked her duties.

Still, even with the decision made beforehand, it was hard to slide out of Buffy’s arms and get dressed as she slept on, unaware. He watched her for a little while, barely resisting the urge to caress her cheek; she looked peaceful and relaxed; it was a nice change from the past couple of weeks.

He finally left, after a barely-there kiss to her forehead that made her smile contentedly in her sleep. He kept the image of her smile in his mind as he patrolled; it was certainly the only reason he needed to do what he was doing.

His good mood faded when he caught an all too familiar scent in the wind. He could have ignored it and kept going, but something he had heard Xander say came back to him. Riley had been acting strangely, taking more risks on patrol than he ought to have, and the gang was officially concerned. That probably meant that Spike was supposed to check on him, however unpleasant the idea might be. He followed the trail through a few streets, but just when he started thinking that Finn might have gone home, his scent turned toward the direction of the old warehouse neighborhood. A few nests were there along with other demonic activities…

He caught sight of Riley just as he was coming out of a building that wasn’t abandoned as it seemed to be. Snorting to himself – this was just too funny – Spike couldn’t help himself and caught Riley’s attention.

“So that’s why you’ve been smelling like dried blood,” he commented, loud enough that his voice reached Riley. The human instantly stopped and faced him. “Thought you needed to learn how to shave properly, but it’s something else, isn’t it?”

Smirking, he approached Riley and shook his head.

“How the mighty have fallen,” he tisked. “Getting suckjobs? Buffy would be so disappointed to hear about that.”

Riley’s face closed even more if that was possible, as did his fists.

“Shut up, Spike. You have no idea…”

Chuckling, Spike continued advancing toward him.

“Oh, but I think I do have an idea. Took my little speech at heart, heh? Trying to find the darkness in yourself so that she’ll even glance in your direction? Or… You’re not trying to get yourself killed, are you? ‘Cause if you are, I’m sure I could find you someone who’ll do it faster than this. Then I could even have the pleasure of staking you. Now _that_ would be grand. You wouldn’t happen to have a stake handy, would you? Course not, they don’t let people bring stakes into this place, do they?”

Taunting the man was sweet, even sweeter than discovering he wasn’t the perfect little boy he pretended to be. But Spike’s smile wavered when Riley reached inside his jacket and pulled out a stake.

“I never thought to ask if it was allowed,” he said blankly. “Shame on me, I suppose. Although it might be useful right about now.”

He twirled the stake in his hand, drawing Spike’s attention to it.

“If you touch one hair of my head,” Spike said coolly, “she’ll…”

“Ah, but she’s not here to protect you right now, is she?” Riley cut in as he took two steps closer to Spike, backing him against the wall. “And even if she was, I’d only need to tell her all I heard about your plans. About how you’re just using her ‘til you can kill her and her friends and family, and you know what? She would be the one doing this.”

Taken by surprise and trapped, Spike had the time to deflect the left hook aimed at his jaw, but not the stake descending into his chest, and he could only howl in pain as it breached the flesh straight to his heart. He briefly wondered if Buffy would ever know how he had died – and then he realized that he wasn’t turning to dust. He glanced down to his chest incredulously, then back up at Riley when the human pulled the stake out.

“Plastic wood-grain. Looks real, doesn’t it? That’s your last warning. Next time, it’ll be for real.”

With that, he walked away, leaving Spike gasping in pain and clutching at his chest.

It took him a while to drag himself back to his crypt. He managed to take off his shirt and bandage the wound, cursing Riley as each movement created more pain, before finally collapsing on his bed, clutching the ruined shirt to his chest. Riley would pay for that, too. Before drifting into blissful sleep, he had his plan ready. The wanker would regret having played with him like this, and revenge would be delightfully sweet.

*****

Absorbed in the rhythm of her fists hitting the punching bag with clockwork regularly, Buffy lost all notion of time. But while she had hoped training would help her empty her mind, she found that the events of the last night kept repeating themselves in her head, and with each loop it all made a little less sense if that was even possible.

*****

_To her mild surprise, Spike hadn’t joined Buffy for patrol, and she found herself going to his crypt after her first graveyard visit of the night. She quickly realized he wasn’t there either, but just as she was leaving, she noticed the note pinned to the back of the door with a thin dagger. She recognized his penmanship, and frowned, worried, at the request that she join him in one of the less pleasant neighborhood of Sunnydale. She didn’t question the note however, certain that whatever was going on, it had to be serious, and rushed to join Spike._

_She found him easily, but he refused to answer her questions as to why they were there. Refused, also, to tell her what was wrong and why he groaned lightly when she hugged him; he had to have run into trouble, that wouldn’t be the first time. He asked her to wait, explaining he wanted to show her something, and she complied with his wishes. They hid in a dark alley, and it wasn’t long before Riley walked by a few feet from them, oblivious to their presence. She was about to say something but Spike shushed her. They waited a few more minutes, and then he led her out of the alley.  
_

*****

The door that linked the backroom and the store opened, and Buffy tensed as she saw Riley approach. She wasn’t in any mood to talk to him. She wasn’t in any mood to talk to anyone, actually. She was still trying to process what she had seen, trying to understand how she had remained unaware that such things happened at all, let alone in Sunnydale. She was angry with Giles for never telling her about it; wasn’t that part of what a Watcher was supposed to teach a Slayer? Spike must have known, too, and he had never said anything either. As for Riley… she would never have believed that he could do anything that stupid.

*****

_“This way.”_

_There were vampires on the ground level of the warehouse, but Spike ignored them and climbed the stairs. Uneasy, Buffy followed him, more intrigued and uncomfortable with each passing second. She wasn’t sure what was going on in the place, but she was quickly finding out she didn’t like the general atmosphere. Then Spike tilted his head to the side, and when she looked in his direction, she understood what he had wanted her to see. Riley. Being fed on by a vamp. Asking a vamp to feed on him. She turned away, nauseated, and bumped into Spike. He hissed and brought a hand to his chest but she was too upset to take notice. She fled the place, literally, refusing to listen to Spike’s hurried explanation of why he had wanted her to witness this._

__

*****

She kept beating up the punching bag as Riley came closer, kept punching as he announced that they needed to talk; but at the instant he slipped behind the bag to hold it in place she stopped.

“I have nothing to tell you.”

“Then listen,” he shot back, and she realized with some surprise that he sounded angry. Angry about what? She was the one who ought to have been upset that one of her friends courted death.

“Listen to what?” she snapped at him. “You’re going to explain to me what the hell you were doing last night? Or has it been going on for longer than that? I’m not sure anything you can say will make me understand. You know about vamps, and you’re playing with fire, Riley. I’m not going to stand still and watch you get burned.”

His jaw visibly clenched and he kept silent for a couple of seconds. When he did talk, his voice was crackling with tension.

“I’m not asking you to understand, although if anyone could, I’d have thought it would be you, seeing how you’ve let yourself be bitten before.”

“I did not let myself be bitten!” she exclaimed in outrage, and Riley raised his hands in an appeasing manner.

“Fine. You didn’t let them. Whatever. That’s not what I want to tell you.”

Crossing her arms, Buffy merely waited for what he had to say; if she had said anything, she would have shouted at him for showing himself so stupid, and she doubted it would have helped anything.

“Spike,” he said as if spitting venom. “He brought you to the warehouse. Want to know why? Not because he was worried about me, I’m sure you can agree to that. He wanted you mad at me, so you wouldn’t listen when I told you about what he’s planning.”

Getting more animated as he talked, Riley explained about what he had heard from different vamps in bars, about Spike and his supposed plan to get close to Buffy to add another Slayer to his belt. When he was done, Buffy remained quiet as she thought over everything that had happened; finally, she shook her head sadly and said:

“I can’t believe you’re still trying to get between Spike and me. Is that why you were trying to get yourself killed? Were they supposed to turn you, too?”

“Have you even heard a word of what I’ve said about Spike?” he interjected angrily.

“Oh, I’ve heard you. Loud and clear. And I don’t believe a word of it.”

“He’s a vampire!”

“We’ve already had that discussion, Riley. And this? This jealousy of yours or whatever it is? It’s getting old. I love Spike. Period. I love him as he is, I would have loved him even if he hadn’t been a vamp, and I…”

“I don’t think you would have,” Riley cut in, more calmly than before. “If he had been human, you wouldn’t have looked twice at him, like you never looked twice at me. But the danger of being with a demon… the thrill of it… I get that, now.”

She shook her head, both sad and angry that someone she had thought of as a friend seemed not to know the first thing about her. She wished she knew how to show him, prove to him he was wrong, about herself and about Spike, but she doubted anything she could say would make any difference to him now.

“I’m leaving Sunnydale,” he announced abruptly. “Tonight. The military has asked me back.”

Whatever reaction he had expected from her, he appeared disappointed when she simply replied that it was probably better that way. He left without looking back, and Buffy could only hope that wherever he was headed, his obsession with vampires wouldn’t get him killed.

*****

_Can’t say that’s my favorite event in our relationship. Quite the contrary, actually, and I’d rather…_

_Why do you want me to tell about it? Just said it’s not my fondest memories. Are you getting off on torturing me?_

_Oh, fine, don’t get excited, I’ll do it._

_Where d’you want me to start?_

_That same evening. OK. Can do that. Give me a second, would you?_

_Right. So, the bloody wanker went bye-bye, and the Slayer came to my crypt. It was night already, and any other time I would have been out, either finding some comfort in the liquid sort or fighting my way through my anger. But with the still gaping hole in my chest… Let’s just say that taking Buffy to see the show the previous night and returning to my crypt after that had been hard enough without me trying to add to the pain. What I needed was rest and human blood to heal faster. Had to do with pig’s and an argument._

_One of the things that surprise me most about this whole mess is that she didn’t notice I was hurt that badly. It just serves to show how upset she was. It’s not like her to be that oblivious, especially when the clues are that big – the major ones being that she had noticed something was wrong the previous night and that I didn’t move from my seat in an armchair for all the time she was there. If she had stopped pacing and glaring two seconds to think, she’d have realized that I don’t stay that still unless I have a very good reason. Hell, it’s almost physically impossible for me to…_

_Yes, I am trying to gain time. You’ve got a problem with it?_

_She told me about the wanker’s accusations first, and I…_

_What now?_

_Her words? You want her bleedin’ words? You think I took notes while she was talking?_

_The hell with it. You want words, that’s what you’re getting. And I swear if you interrupt me again you won’t get anything else out of me. Got it?_

_Bloody words._

_“Riley’s gone.”_

_“Good riddance.”_

_“He told me why you led me to him.”_

_“Did he, now? And why would that be according to the great wanker?”_

_“He warned you that he was going to tell me about your ‘plan’ and so you acted first.”_

_“My plan, huh? What did you think of it?”_

_“What do you think I thought, Spike?”_

_“You’re standing there glaring at me like I’ve eaten your favorite kitten, so looks to me like you believed him.”_

_“You… You actually think that I’d believe you want to kill me? Are you completely insane or just really blind?”_

_“You’ve thought so before.”_

_“You’re right. I have. But I like to think that I’ve grown up since. That we did. I trust you, Spike. I really do. With my life, with my sister’s, and my mom’s. I trust you with my heart, and just that should tell you how far I’ve come.”_

_“Buffy…”_

_“And it’s because I trust you that it hurts even more when you play games with me.”_

_“Games? What bloody games did I…”_

_“The way you brought me to Riley? You didn’t want me to know he had a problem. You wanted him to see me seeing him. You used me to hurt him. You manipulated me by leading me to him without telling me what was going on.”_

_“…”_

_“I know you don’t like Riley. I know you have your reasons, and I never asked you to become best friend with him. But he was part of the gang. He was my friend, if not yours, and I wish you could have respected that.”_

_“You think he showed any of that respect when he…”_

_“When he what?”_

_“Nothing.”_

_“Is this about the chip?”_

_“No it’s not about that fucking chip. It’s about him not being able to accept that you could love a monster like me. Great friend, huh? You know what? I could have kept my mouth shut. You’d never have known about it until he ended up dead or turned. Would you have preferred that?”_

_“Of course not. But I certainly would prefer it if you showed a bit more care for my feelings. And human life. Just because you don’t like him doesn’t mean he deserves to die.”_

_“…”_

_“What? Why are you looking at me like that?”_

_“Because I’ve finally figured it out. What you’re saying is that you’d prefer if I was a bit more human, isn’t it?”_

_“Huh? Why the…”_

_“Newsflash, luv. I’m not human. And I’m not going to start pretending.”_

_“Did I ever ask you to pretend? Did I ever give the smallest hint that I wasn’t happy with you just the way you are? I know exactly who and what you are, I know what you’ve done, and I. Don’t. Have. A. Problem. With. It. But I’m beginning to wonder if maybe you do. And you know what else? I guess that means you and Riley are right, after all. I must have a death wish, that’s the only sensible explanation to why I’m dating a demon.”_

_And with those lovely words, she stormed out, furious. And I was too fucking proud to go after her. Can we move on, now?_


	13. Mending Porcelain

Dawn hesitated by her sister’s open door for an instant before finally asking and obtaining permission to enter. Buffy was sitting on her bed, reading a magazine, but there was something about her, that well-concealed sadness that didn’t seem ever to disappear lately, that told Dawn that she might not be all that interested in what she was reading.

She walked around the room, hands behind her back since she had been warned against touching anything, and stopped in front of the corkboard and its pictures. The Scoobies, her mom, even Dawn herself were there; and, right in the center, a smirking unnaturally blond vampire.

“How come it’s possible to take a picture of a vampire?” she asked suddenly. “If they don’t have a reflection in a mirror, a camera shouldn’t work either.”

Buffy sighed. “I don’t know, Dawnie. I’m not the one who made up the rules.”

“Maybe I can ask Spike, next time I see him.”

“Sure.”

A few weeks back, Dawn was sure that her words would have earned her a pointed glare from her sister; Buffy had been over-protective of her relationship with Spike. But something had happened, Dawn wasn’t sure what, and now, Buffy didn’t seem so upset anymore about Dawn’s crush on Spike. During the same time, Dawn had all but given up hope that Spike may come to like her as anything more than a kid sister. Strange how things had changed in so little time.

Coming to sit at the foot of Buffy’s bed, Dawn considered her sister. She had overheard Buffy telling their mom that she had argued with Spike, but she didn’t know why, or how bad it was, and she terribly wanted to know.

“He hasn’t been around in a while,” she commented cautiously.

“No, he hasn’t.” Buffy replied softly as she put her magazine aside. Dawn took this as an invitation to continue.

“Did you two break up?”

Buffy briefly closed her eyes and leaned back against her pillow. She looked miserable. “No, we just argued,” she said.

“About what?”

“It’s complicated.”

Dawn snickered. “In other words you don’t want to talk about it with me.”

“Something like that, yes,” Buffy admitted. “He’s the one I should be talking with about all of it.”

“Then why don’t you? And don’t tell me that’s complicated too.”

Buffy actually chuckled. “It’s _difficult_ ,” she grinned, but there was still too much sadness in her smile. “I thought he would take the first step, and he hasn’t. If I go now, it’s like admitting I was wrong. And I don’t think I was.”

“But what if he’s thinking the exact same thing?” Dawn countered. “Then he won’t come to you, and you won’t go to him, and…”

“Nah, it’s not gonna happen,” Buffy cut in gently. “I’m not going to let him get away.”

A little part of Dawn couldn’t help but feeling a bit guilty. A few days before, she had obliquely told Spike that Buffy trained with Riley. She had done it because at the time, she had been upset with her sister, and she had thought that if Spike were angry with her he would spend more time with Dawn instead. Now Riley was gone, Buffy and Spike weren’t talking and Spike hadn’t come to Revello in a week. It was all very confusing, but Dawn just couldn’t shake off the idea that somehow she had played a part in all of it.

“So you’ll make up with him?” she asked, a bit anxious that after a week it was already too late.

“Of course I will. Soon.”

“Promise?”

Buffy sighed and threw a look at the picture board. “Yes, I promise.”

*****

A week without seeing her, and already Spike felt like it had been years since he had talked to Buffy. He hated the way they had argued, hated that she had walked away from him more upset than ever before, hated that neither of them had made the first step yet toward reconciliation. He had stayed in his crypt the entire time, living on his reserves of blood, just so he would be there in case she came to him, but she hadn’t. He had thought, of course, about going to her, but for a long time his pride refused to even let him acknowledge that he had done anything wrong. When he finally admitted to himself that, maybe, his handling of the Finn problem had been a little hasty, seven days had passed and he doubted it would make talking to Buffy any easier.

Having time to kill before sunset made it possible to go find her, he pinned a picture of her to a wall and, feeling like a complete idiot, practiced his making up speech.

“Slayer, we have to…”

He paused, frowned, and changed his mind. Calling her Slayer might not be his best option.

“Buffy, we have to talk. I know you think I was trying to hurt the wan… Riley when I brought you to see him, but that’s not it... No, really, it’s not. I may not have chosen the best way to do it but I was trying to help him… I warned him that what he was doing was dangerous and…”

He stopped and glared at the picture. “Yes, I bloody well did warn him. Why don’t you believe me?”

Nothing more than silence answered, but in his head, he could hear her arguments, could hear her refusing to believe the – only slightly distorted – truth. He started pacing in front of the picture, shaking a finger at it every so often as he ranted about how she had refused to see for so long that Riley was lusting after her and that she should have made it clear to him sooner that he didn’t stand a chance with her. He abruptly realized that he was shouting, and cut himself short. That certainly wasn’t the way to get back into Buffy’s good grace. Maybe a box of chocolate..?

Taking a deep, calming breath, he ran a hand through his hair and started again.

“Buffy, we have to talk…”

*****

Buffy had thought that her new classes would distract her from thinking about Spike until she actually went to talk to him, but it seemed that everything reminded her of him. They needed to clear things up; she couldn’t stand to spend one more day without seeing him. How hard could it be to talk about her supposed death wish, her running away from him, and the way he had played with her in the Riley fiasco?

She groaned softly at the realization that she still had no clue how to talk to him. She didn’t want him to think that she was taking responsibility for all of it, because he had had a part in the mess, but…

Something Tara had said made her freeze.

“Anya and Xander are in trouble?” she whimpered.

She couldn’t stand the idea that another Scoobies couple wasn’t perfectly happy, not when she and Spike were having trouble. Tara seemed to catch on to that; she had been very kind earlier, reassuring Buffy that things would get better with Spike because he obviously loved her so much.

“Oh! No, I said that all wrong,” she exclaimed. “It was nothing. Willow and Anya were sort of fighting, and then Xander kind of snapped at both of them and he left.”

Buffy blinked, even more alarmed. “He left? Xander left Anya?”

”No, not "left her" left her, he just left. It was only a little thing, it…”

“Little thing?” Buffy could feel the tears rising. “See, the thing is, the... little things get bigger, you know, and if you don't catch the little thing and then, boom! You have this, this, this whole huge thing!”

“Buffy?” Tara said gently. “They’ll be fine. Really. I promise. And so will you and Spike, I’m sure of it.”

Still sniffling, Buffy nodded and accepted her friend’s hug. She was being unreasonable, she realized that, but it still was impossible not to worry when so many things could go wrong.

*****

“I tell you, Harris, women are completely unreasonable. No way to have a sensible discussion with any of them.”

Having delivered this deep truth, Spike leaned over the pool table and carefully aligned his next shot.

“Know what?” Xander replied. “That kind of makes sense. And it does explain why Buffy’s with you.”

The cue went in a completely different direction than Spike had planned, and he glared in turn at the rebellious ball that bounced off the side of the table and at Xander.

“Very funny,” he muttered. “But I’ll shoot that one right back at you. No clue what Anyanka ever saw in you.”

Xander shook his head as he walked around the pool for a better angle. “Have you listened to a word I’ve said?” he complained. “It’s not about Anya and me. It’s her and Willow.” A pointed glare nailed Spike where he stood. “And don’t start again with your ‘driving stick’ comments, you know that’s not the point.”

Taking a swallow of his beer, Spike watched Xander send a ball into the corner pocket.

“I know,” he said at last somberly. “But I don’t know what to tell you other than, women’s minds just don’t work like ours, and we’re not meant to understand them.”

Xander rolled his eyes at him before getting ready to make another shot.

“I can’t believe I’m saying that, but I hope you and Buffy make up quickly, you’re really no fun when you’re…”

Spike raised an eyebrow as Xander abruptly stopped talking, and at his frantic gesturing, he turned to see what was going on behind him, only to discover that the Bronze had acquired a new patron in the form of a troll. A loud, rather obnoxious and short-tempered troll.

“We should do something,” Xander whispered after coming to stand by Spike.

“Like what?” Spike replied, not exactly thrilled at the idea of going up against the mountain of muscles that the troll was when his chest was still painful.

“You fight him,” Xander suggested as Spike could have predicted he would, “with the vampire strength and all. I’ll go get Buffy.”

“I’m not sure…”

Spike’s protest was drowned out by the troll’s demand to be fed babies. Things started turning ugly, and Spike was resigning himself to a fight that promised to be interesting, yet painful, when Anya and Willow entered the Bronze, followed, moments later, by Tara and Buffy.

Their eyes met for a brief instant, and Spike felt all the things he had practiced saying come to his lips, but a small headshake from Buffy stopped him. “Later,” she mouthed, apologetic, and he nodded. In truth, he didn’t exactly mind having a little longer to think it through. Although thinking wasn’t exactly the easiest thing to do when you were battling a troll.

*****

_The Slayer eventually took that damn troll down, but only after it had wrecked the Bronze and broken Harris’ arm. The battle took place at the Magic Box, and while my girl was just glorious in her fight… well, let’s just say Giles wasn’t so happy about the state of his shop when he returned from dear old London._

_After our not so friendly troll was sent to whatever unlucky dimension Willow had chosen, the girls – all three of them – took Harris to the hospital, and only after they left did I realize that Buffy must have orchestrated their departure. Realize, or hope, not sure which. We did have a lot to talk about. A lot to repair, too. We both knew it, we both wanted it, but that didn’t make things any simpler._

_It’s without a word that we started cleaning up the mess. We worked together, but avoided looking at each other, pushing back the moment when we’d have to face the coming discussion. We filled out four trash bags before finally talking._

_I came back from taking the bags out to the dumpster and found her sitting at the research table. She made eye contact with me, and I remember sighing as I realized that this was it. The moment I had been dreading, because so many things could go wrong. I sat down across from her, resisting the urge to pull out my fags; that wouldn’t have helped anything. I watched her hands on the table, pressed flat and white-knuckled from the pressure._

_She took a deep breath, and I braced myself for what was coming. She surprised me by saying the last thing I’d have expected to hear right then._

_“I love you.”_

_I looked up at her, wondering if things were so bad that she needed to remind herself that she loved me, or if it was the opposite and she was ready to move past our arguments. I couldn’t tell which it was._

_“Love you too,” I replied, and waited for what would come next to have a clue as to where we stood._

_For a long moment, we just looked at each other. I could tell that she wanted to talk, but all she did was bite her bottom lip. So, I tried to help._

_“’M not good at this. Never had to make up with Dru, she’d forget why she was upset five minutes after whatever it was happened.”_

_That brought a tense smile – but a smile nonetheless – to her lips._

_“Not exactly the best relationship model, is it?” she said with the barest hint of teasing._

_“Probably not. Unless you suddenly become insane in which case it’d be perfect.”_

_She snorted. “I can’t say I have any better to offer. Angel wasn’t exactly big on the talking thing.”_

_She had accepted my reference to Drusilla, and I had to fight myself to return the favor, however hard it was to think of her and the wanker together._

_“So in summary,” I smirked, “we’re screwed.”_

_“Looks like it. Feel like trying to beat the odds?”_

_I reached for her hand on the table, simply covering it with mine._

_“For you, always.”_

_The smile this time was a bit warmer, and she linked our fingers together. “Where should we start?” she asked._

_The words were hard to push out, but I felt like I had to. We couldn’t go on without clearing things between us, and I loved her too much to let what we had go to hell without trying to fix it._

_“How about I apologize for using you?”_

_Her smile faded, and it was even harder to continue. “You were right, I brought you to Riley because I wanted to hurt him. I didn’t stop to think that my revenge would hurt you too.”_

_“Revenge for what?” she sighed. “I know he was acting rather stupidly where you were concerned, but…”_

_Her voice trailed off as I pulled open my shirt with my free hand and tugged my t-shirt up until she could see what was left of the wound the wanker had inflicted. Her grip on my other hand tightened until it almost hurt._

_“He did that?” she breathed. “Looks like…”_

_“He staked me,” I confirmed, and let my t-shirt fall back down. “Except, he didn’t use wood, he just went for the pain. That’s what I wanted revenge for. Couldn’t hurt him myself, and knowing how much he cared for you… I’m sorry I pulled you into that.”_

_She shook her head, eyes wide with incredulity. “I can’t believe he did something so… barbaric! Good thing he left town or I’d have kicked his sorry ass into next week. How could I have not noticed… And why didn’t you tell me?”_

_Now see, at that point, I could have made up something and played the innocent victim of an insane ex-soldier. And I’ll be damned if I didn’t seriously consider it. But in the end…_

_“Beating the odds,” I murmured to myself, and proceeded to admit that I had taunted the git until he had broken. She didn’t like what I said, but she nonetheless replied with a muttered, “That still doesn’t excuse what he did.”_

_And that was – thank heaven – the last time for a long while that we spoke about the wanker._

_After a bit of silence and contemplation of our still joined hands, she looked back up at me uneasily._

_“My turn, huh?”_

_I said nothing; it was her choice to make. She sighed._

_“I’m sorry I told you to leave me alone.”_

_It took me no longer than a second to know what she was talking about; her words echoed in my mind and I was back in the training room, on my knees as she left me._

_“Not to sound like I’m borrowing your words, but you were right that night. I wasn’t ready to hear what you had to say. I panicked. I can’t explain myself any better than that.”_

_I couldn’t help it, then. I had to try and push, see how far she was ready to go._

_“Was that the only thing I was right about?”_

_She knew instantly what I was referring to, I could see it on her face, in the way her whole body tensed._

_“I don’t have a death wish, Spike,” she murmured. “I’m not in a relationship with you because you’re a vamp.”_

_“I know that, kitten,” I tried to appease her, but she squeezed my hand and I understood that she wasn’t finished, so I fell silent._

_“I don’t want to die,” she repeated. “But maybe… maybe when you bit me… it was different. The world felt like it was falling to pieces around me and maybe I… just for an instant…”_

_I managed to give her a tight smile. I thought – and still think – that it was good that she was admitting this to herself. That didn’t make it any less difficult to hear. I didn’t know what to say after that, so I kept quiet and rubbed my thumb against hers, just keeping the contact._

_“I wanted to thank you,” she said eventually. “For being there even when I thought I wanted to be alone. It’s been a rough time with mom in the hospital, but you’ve been there every step of the way and I don’t think I’ve said it… thank you.”_

_She stood as she was talking, and walked around the table to come to me, never letting go of my hand. I pulled her down to sit on my lap and we made up for all the cuddling, touching, and kissing we had missed in the past few days. I would have made up for our missed lovemaking too, but she objected that the table wasn’t exactly comfortable, and that we needed to finish cleaning the store anyway. Can’t say I was too happy with that._

_Then, she looked around at the mess that was the store, and her good resolutions vanished – which definitely made me happier._

_“Anya and Willow can finish cleaning tomorrow,” she muttered. “After all, Giles left them in charge.”_

_I bit back my comment that it was their fault anyway, and gladly walked out with her. I not too subtly hinted at going back to my crypt but she shook her head._

_“It’s late, I should go home.”_

_And I knew that meant alone. Or I thought I knew._

_“I’ve been meaning to talk to mom about her no sleep-over rule, and I’m going to do it soon now that she’s better… but maybe you could sneak into my room tonight?”_

_I bloody well wasn’t going to refuse that invitation, even if it meant leaving in the early morning again._

_She walked in through the front door, and I climbed up to the window. I was in her room before her. We were a bit more… tender, slower than we usually were when sleeping together, hiding behind the excuse that we had to be quiet so Dawn and Joyce wouldn’t hear us. The truth is, I think we both realized how close we had come to losing each other, and we treated each other like delicate porcelain._

_Let me reassure you – the next time we made love, the walls shook._


	14. Visits

Someone, somewhere, was really having fun making her life as complicated as possible, Buffy was sure of it. How else could she explain everything that had happened in the past months? Even the past couple of days clearly proved that her life was nothing but an immense cosmic joke.

There had been the Scooby meeting the previous night, with everyone looking at her as if she was insane because she had freaked out that Dawn had been listening in on them. There was the Council of Watchers, probably already in Sunnydale by now, and wasn’t that promising to be a barrel of laughs. Earlier, there had been her infuriating history professor, making fun of her when all she had done was try to express an opinion. Now, Spike. The one person who usually managed to make her forget about the lousy days, and who had just robbed her of her punching-vamp by staking him in a very untimely fashion.

“Why did you do that?” she protested, crossing her arms in annoyance.

He frowned briefly at her greeting, but his smirk was soon back in full force as he approached, all swagger and cockiness.

“Hello to you too, luv. Seems to me, you were having way too much fun with the poor sod. I’m the official Slayer-fun provider, ain’t I?”

“It was my kill,” she insisted, still pouting even as he looped his arms around her waist and pulled her closer to him. “I _needed_ that kill.”

“I’m sure we can find something else to amuse you,” he purred, millimeters from her lips, and despite her resolve not to be swayed so easily, Buffy found herself melting into his kiss. Her frustration flared again as she realized she was caving in so easily, and she pulled back.

“’M sorry,” Spike said, although he sounded anything but apologetic. “I’m a bad, bad vamp for taking your kill. Want to tell me what’s wrong now?”

They started patrolling again, and Buffy told him, replaying for him the humiliating scene that had taken place in the world history classroom.

“You were right,” Spike announced when she was finished. “Rasputin _was_ a demon. That’s what you were thinking, weren’t you?”

Blinking, she stared at him. “Well, yeah, I couldn’t say it that plainly in class but that’s… How do you know?”

He shrugged. “Seeing your line of work it was an easy guess that you’d think that.”

“No, no, how do you know he was a demon? And what kind of demon anyway? Is he still alive?”

He pointed at something behind her, and for a brief instant, she thought he meant Rasputin was there; of course, that wasn’t the case, he was merely pointing out a fledgling to her. Stake firmly in hand, she went after the vampire, listening to Spike behind her as she fought.

“Not sure if he is alive still, and I can’t remember what breed he was exactly. We could check that out if you want, I’m sure Rupert must have a book about it, somewhere. As for how I know… just something I picked up over the years.”

A last flick of her wrist and the vamp fell to dust at her feet.

“Feeling better?”

She smiled back at Spike. “Much better.”

“That means I can comment now on how delicious you look tonight?”

Her smile widened even more at the compliment. She had long before realized that dressing in black and wearing her hair down were two fool-proof ways to catch Spike’s eye – or at least, more than usual – and she had used both tricks when getting ready for patrol.

“Delicious?” she teased. “Does the Big Bad want a taste?”

Something feral glowed in his eyes and sent a thrill down her spine. “Catch me, then,” she laughed, and started running. With each stride, she relaxed, and pushed out of her mind the too many little, and not so little, things that had irritated her earlier. When she allowed herself to be caught, there was nothing left in the world but Spike and her. Nothing but his hands, lips, cock; nothing but his body and hers.

Holding her tight, he led her backwards until she was against the wall of a crypt, then started fumbling with the fastenings of her pants with one hand while the other slipped under her top to cup her breast. Her fingers curled at the back of his head, she tried to pull him in for a kiss, but at the last moment, he resisted and nuzzled instead the crook of her neck. Mindlessly, she helped him, tugging at the collars of her jacket and sweater until her flesh was bared to his mouth. She closed her eyes and held back a moan when his tongue flicked out to lick the bite scars on her throat, soon followed by caressing lips. That single sensation heightened everything else, and her whole body hummed with pleasure already, her nipples hardening under his ministrations, her clit throbbing as his fingers avoided it while they slid in and out of her.

Again, she tried to help and pushed as well as she could her pants and underwear further down before reaching out for his zipper. He hissed quietly against her skin when she carefully eased his cock out of his pants and gave it a few strokes. Then, in a flash, his fingers were gone, replaced by hard flesh as he gripped her hips, raised her and pushed inside her brutally. She couldn’t have said if it was the sensation of being filled so completely or the blunt teeth biting down on her neck that pulled a choked cry from her throat. There was nothing to do but hold on for the ride with arms and legs and enjoy as he rhythmically thrust into her without holding anything back as she knew he so often did.

In one instant of frighteningly bright clarity, she realized that this was him, fully, completely, nothing hidden as he gave himself to her and took in return; if anything, it made her love him more and made her fall even faster into the abyss of bliss he was leading her to.

She must have blacked out, because when she opened her eyes again Spike was immobile against her, trembling but immobile, his only movement the slow lapping of a cool tongue at her neck. She wondered, dimly, if he was lapping her blood, before realizing that he was merely soothing the place where he had bitten without breaking her skin. She tried to talk, but all she managed to utter was “Wow.”

Spike chuckled quietly against her. “That good, huh?”

Again, Buffy was at a loss for words. “I… You…” she tried, but came back to her first impression. “Wow.”

The smug smirk she expected wasn’t there when his face came up; instead, he looked relieved, and she just couldn’t understand why. The question died on her lips as he pressed his mouth to hers at the same time as he pulled out of her, and she was torn between disappointment and contentment.

Twenty minutes later, she was wishing that she too could still purr like a happy kitten, as with arms wrapped around each other, they arrived at the Magic Box. The warm feeling disappeared when she pushed open the door and realized that the Council was there. They hadn’t seen Spike yet, or so she hoped as she stepped back and quietly murmured to him that he’d better go home. He nodded, seeming to understand what was going on; they had talked, the previous night, about how the Council might react to him, and decided it would be best if they didn’t know exactly how close they were. With a last encouraging smile, he walked away, and she watched him go before steeling herself and entering the shop again.

*****

Leaving Buffy the previous night hadn’t been easy, for more than one reason; and as morning arrived, he tried not to hope too much that she would come. She had a lot on her plate already, he told himself repeatedly. Between school, running the house while her mother recovered and the Council being in town, her time would be running short. No reason to be jealous. No reason either to fret that their last bit of play had been too rough.

She had enjoyed it, she had said as much, and hadn’t voiced any complaint, far from it. Still, he couldn’t help the edge of worry that had wormed itself in him when he had bitten her and realized he had been extremely close to vamping out. Not only that, but the chip hadn’t buzzed the slightest hint of a warning. He usually kept a better control on himself than that, but the chasing game she had initiated had exacerbated his demon. It had reminded him of that time, a year before, when she had regressed to her cavewoman roots, but this had been different; different, because, Spike was almost sure of it, she had known exactly what she was doing to him by making him hunt her.

He couldn’t wait to see her, and reassure himself that she was fine. But when his crypt door finally opened around noon, it wasn’t her that came through, but rather three humans who were unmistakably watchers. Their presence itself wasn’t unexpected, but their obvious fear on the other hand was, especially since they knew he worked with the Slayer. And that wasn’t all they knew.

He stood in front of them, leaning against the sarcophagus and trying not to snicker at the crossbow and crosses pointed in his direction. He wondered, briefly, if Giles had ever been as nervous in front of a vampire as his ex-colleagues were now. It was hard to imagine he had, which wasn’t exactly flattering for the newest generation of Watchers.

“We… We know you had a soul,” the female watcher asked from behind her male counterparts. “We require knowing how you lost it.”

Pen in her slightly shaky hand, she was ready to scribble on her clipboard; Spike shook his head.

“No clue,” he lied with his most irritating smile. “One day it was there, and the next, gone. Very strange. Think I should look for it at the lost and found counter?”

She blinked, apparently unsure what to make of his reply. “Do you mean you regret having lost it?” she asked with a small frown. “One would think that with your past it would be a relief not to have a soul anymore.”

“With my past?” he repeated, amused. “Heard about me, have you?”

A blush crept up her cheeks. “I… wrote my thesis on you,” she said with an embarrassed smile.

Spike chuckled, already imagining the inanities that had to fill the girl’s paper. “How neat. You’ll have to let me see it some time.”

She seemed pleased by his request and babbled something that might have been an agreement, cutting herself short when one of the other Watchers threw her an annoyed glance. Flustered, she clutched her clipboard a little tighter and read the next question.

“You… We know you help the Slayer. Describe the kind of help you give her and your motivations.”

Spike tried his best to suppress both the sigh and the eye roll that the whole thing inspired him. He was doing this for Buffy, he reminded himself, she needed the wankers to give her whatever information they had, and that certainly meant that he had to play nice. Bored out of his mind, he tried to answer the questions he was being asked with the words he thought the Watchers wanted to hear.

*****

An indistinguishable mix of shock, anger, and fear were making Buffy tremble as she shepherded Joyce and Dawn across the graveyard and toward Spike’s crypt. She still could hardly believe that, minutes earlier, Glory had been in her home, talking to her in what the insane demoness probably thought was a kind tone, so close, so very close to Dawn but thankfully unaware that the teenager was exactly what Glory was looking for. Anything could have happened, if Glory had been set on fighting rather than talking. Anyone could have died. Buffy herself, Dawn, Joyce, she doubted Glory would have cared which of them as long as she made her point. Worse, her threat had been all too clear – she would be back and next time wouldn’t be so pleasant.

As soon as she had left, Buffy made Joyce and Dawn pack and rushed them out of the house. She wished she could have sent them out of town, away from danger, but with Joyce barely recovered, it hardly seemed like the best solution. Also, a flight might have attracted Glory’s attention even more. That left Buffy with one obvious solution; placing them in the care of the one person besides herself who had a chance of keeping them safe while she tried to find a more permanent solution.

Spike was sitting atop a sarcophagus when she ushered her family inside. He was reading, and for half a second, Buffy tried to remember when was the last time she had seen him read other than for research purposes. She shook off the thought, there were more pressing matters at hand, and walked toward him as he gracefully slid off his perch, hiding the pages he had been reading behind him. He was smiling as he greeted the three of them, but there was also the hint of alarm in his eyes.

“Is something wrong?” he asked sotto voce, his gaze flickering to Dawn and Joyce by the entrance of the crypt.

Easily, Buffy slipped into his open arms and accepted a quick, chaste kiss.

“Glory was at my home,” she explained and saw his concern grow. “She didn’t hurt any of us, but she threatened to. Could you take care of mom and Dawn? You’re the only one strong enough…”

“Of course,” he replied immediately. “But where are you going?”

She sighed. “I’ve got that damn meeting with the Council. It’s my only chance to learn more about Glory. And hopefully we’ll learn enough to protect ourselves against her.”

She could have sworn for a brief instant he seemed unconvinced, but the look was gone as quickly as it had appeared.

“Hopefully,” he repeated. “It’d be nice to know what Glory wants, finally.”

A pang of guilt ran through Buffy, but this was definitely not the time to tell him about Dawn. Soon, she would, maybe, and he would understand then that she had trusted him with more than her family’s lives.

*****

_It felt strange to have both the Bit and Joyce with me in the crypt. From strange it shifted to uncomfortable when Joyce looked around; I was suddenly acutely aware of the dust, cobwebs, and recycled furniture that made up my living – so to speak – space, and her attempts at complimenting my home sounded too polite to be true. She had known of course that I lived in a crypt, but I bet she’d imagined something a bit grander._

_Dawn tried to claim the telly, but I preempted her, as it was time for a show I was following. Turned out that Joyce was interested in it too, which had Dawn rolling her eyes at the both of us for a while, until she was caught up in the story._

_No, they don’t need to know what show it was._

_As much as I hated failing to meet her standards, Joyce finally visiting the crypt had at least one advantage: it wasn’t too hard to convince her that maybe I could spend more time at Revello and Buffy could then spend less time in my crypt. It also helped I suppose that I pointed out they couldn’t hide here forever, and if I spent more time in Revello I’d be able to play bodyguard to them in their own home._

_Buffy was completely baffled when I told her about it later that night. I walked the three of them home after she returned from her little meeting; but when she told me she’d come by the crypt in the morning to fill me in with what had happened with the Council, I grinned like a lunatic and told her I wasn’t going anywhere but to her room. She glanced at her mum in the kitchen, close enough to hear, and got a smile in reply. I pulled her after me up the steps and to her room, and she was still too shocked to manage a coherent word. I managed to undress the both of us and we were tucked in bed nice and cozy when her brain finally stopped short-circuiting._

_“She actually agreed to… what? Let you move in?”_

_Interesting that that was her first thought, wasn’t it? Thought so too._

_“No, just that I could sleep over. On conditions that we lock the door and be very discreet for Dawn’s sake. Oh, and if I’m taking a shower I’m supposed to be fully covered going in and out of the room. If I’m having breakfast here, I’ll have to wash my mug. And, I quote, ‘no flaming act’…”_

_She muffled a giggle against my shoulder. God, but it was good to hear her laugh._

_“So let me get this straight,” she said, and I could hear the smile in her voice. “I bring mom and Dawn to you so that you’ll protect them, and you and mom practically draw out a contract about the rights and responsibilities of the sleep-over vampire boyfriend?”_

_I kissed her chuckle away. Being with her like that, just talking and cuddling without being naughty (yet), without having to worry about Joyce’s knowing I was there or how much time we had before I needed to leave, was… special. It was a good thing I didn’t have a soul left to lose._

_“We just talked about it,” I said after a few seconds. “She said I could spend the day here sometimes. If that’s OK with you. And I wouldn’t do that too often anyway. I’ve got my crypt, and I like it and…”_

_I was beginning to panic, because it had just occurred to me that I had no clue if she actually wanted me around that much. She silenced me with a finger across my lips. “It would be nice,” she murmured. “Very nice. Maybe you could stay all day on weekends when I don’t have to go out?”_

_I purred my agreement. She snuggled a bit closer before continuing. “I was going to ask her myself, I was just waiting for the right moment. I thought she would have resisted a bit more than that.”_

_“I think Glory being here spooked her.”_

_The change was immediate. She tensed, from head to toes. I could feel her nails digging into my skin where she held my shoulder. I instinctively caressed her hair, trying to soothe her, and made a mental note that speaking Glory’s name in bed was a bad, very bad idea._

_“Willow and Tara will work on a spell,” she said after a little while. They don’t think they can stop her, but at least something to give us a warning if she comes close again.”_

_“Sounds good.”_

_I wanted to ask about how things had gone with the Council, but at the same time, I was wary of what her reaction would be to my questions about that. In the end, she made the decision for me and told me what had happened after she had left Joyce and the Bit with me. How those knight people had attacked her. How she had taken control of the bloody Council’s show. How she had warned Travers and his lackeys to keep their collective nose out of our relationship. What they had told her about Glory._

_Good and bad news, all mixed together until I didn’t know what to think anymore. I think her emotions were all over the place, too. At the time, I didn’t realize it, but I think it was good that I was with her that night. Or at least, I want to believe it was good, that I brought her some strength._

_We made love, and it was so different from the previous night… It was about comfort. It was about being there for each other, about – or so I thought – trusting the other with everything. I’d soon learn that she had been keeping things for me, and the blade of that truth would be painful. But right then, despite the revelation that Glory wasn’t just the run on the mill demon, everything was right. Everything felt right. It was a lovely night. That I decided to go back to my crypt when habit woke me before sunrise doesn’t change anything to that, because, for the first time, it was truly a decision, I truly had a choice. What I didn’t have was blood in the Summers’ fridge and a change of clothes, but I remedied to that the next night._


	15. Later

For a long moment, no one spoke, and the silence became almost unbearable for Buffy. She stood from the research table and started pacing, aware that Giles’ gaze was following her over his teacup. The Scoobies were exchanging baffled glances. Xander was the first to talk.

“That’s… incredible,” he murmured. “I mean, I remember Dawn from when you all arrived in town. And I remember…”

His voice trailed off; he was clearly at a loss for words.

“I know,” Buffy said as calmly as she could. “I’ve known for weeks and I still can’t wrap my mind around it. All our memories, or at least most of them, are fake, however real they seem to be.”

“It had to require an incredible amount of power,” Willow mused aloud. “Whoever did this had to change the memories of hundreds – no, probably thousands of people, so that all the memories would mesh, and… wow.”

“But… does she know?” Tara asked quietly. “Does she know she’s not really your biological sister?”

Buffy shook her head. “No one but me and Giles knew before tonight. And now the four of you.” She looked at each of them in turn, Willow, Tara, Anya, Xander; she trusted them, of course, but she knew she had taken a risk by telling them. The more people who knew about Dawn, the more chances that something would come out accidentally. A careless word, an overheard conversation…

“Please, _please_ , be very careful not to talk about it where anyone could hear,” she pleaded. “Especially Dawn.”

Solemn nods answered her plea, and Buffy sighed.

“What about Spike?” Giles asked, speaking for the first time since she had started telling the gang what was really going on. “Are you going to tell him?”

“Tell me what?”

Buffy had been so caught up in the discussion that she was startled when Spike spoke from behind her, having come out of the backroom. She faced him as he approached the table, his nod a general greeting to the Scoobies.

“Where have you been?” she asked him. “You’re late. I was worried.”

A quick, chaste kiss and the hand at the small of her back dissipated her worry at the same time as his words brought forth a new one.

“Was trying to get some information about those knights you met the other night,” he explained. “Turns out, they’ve been rather busy around the demon parts of town. I don’t think there are many of them, but they’re a rather insistent bunch. They’re looking for some kind of key…”

Something must have showed on her face, or on those of the gang, because Spike interrupted himself and frowned.

“You know what it is?”

In the short silence that followed, Buffy could almost feel the others holding their breath. She ought to tell Spike, she admonished herself. He had a right to know. But knowing would certainly break his heart, as it had hurt her…

“That’s what we were talking about,” she explained, her throat tight as she struggled for words. “The Key is… it’s what Glory is looking for.”

She couldn’t tell him. Not like this.

“Looks like everybody wants it, then,” he replied, unaware of her discomfort. “Think we’ll be so lucky that Glory and the knights will annihilate each other and clear the board for us?”

Later. She would tell him later. When they were alone, when it was a better time than this, when she knew where to start.

Later.

*****

Slowly stepping sideways, Spike kept his eyes, his whole attention on the Slayer as she mirrored his actions, keeping them at equal distance. He had always liked this part, the careful observation of his prey before launching his attack. But as thrilling as it could be to learn how his prey moved and fought, it was nothing compared to the attack itself, the sudden alteration that changed everything and sometimes decided between life and death.

This time, though, he had decided to let her attack first. He knew her so well, he could see, a half second before she jumped forward, which way she would come at him. He parried without needing to think, and immediately followed with an attack that she blocked easily. Back and forth across the training room, kicks and punches, jumping and ducking, they danced as seriously as they had, years before, during their first fight. As intensely as they had the previous night, naked flesh slapping together, friction so goddamn delicious that Spike had almost howled when he had come, his cry muffled at the last instant in the crook of her arching neck.

His mind and body momentarily caught in the memory, Spike was a fraction of second too slow to avoid the booted foot that caught him square in the chest. He landed flat on his back, his daydream knocked out of him. But when Buffy knelt astride him, pinning his wrists down, and murmured a triumphant “Gotcha” millimeters from his lips, the fantasy was brought back full force and he instinctively bucked his hips up against her. An insistent cough a few feet away brought both of them back to the present and, flustered, Buffy jumped off him and helped him up.

“Right,” Giles said coolly, his eyes on the notes in front of him rather than on them. “I think we’ll stop there for today. Buffy, you’re still dropping your right shoulder and telegraphing your movements. If Spike hadn’t been so clearly elsewhere he would certainly have used that against you like he did yesterday.”

They shared a glance, both of them grinning sheepishly as they followed Giles out of the room and back to the store.

They had trained like this the previous evening and had remained together almost continuously since then. They had patrolled together, gone back to Revello and shared a cup of cocoa with Joyce before taking – separate – showers and getting in bed. A lovely night had only been made better by the prospect of Spike not having to run off come morning; Buffy didn’t have class that day and had asked him to spend some time with her. They had only separated when going to the Magic Box, Buffy taking the streets while Spike went through the sewers, both of them arriving within moments of each other.

“Think I should train more about how to react to heavy weapons?” she suggested. “With the knights lurking around, maybe that would be prudent.”

“Indeed,” Giles agreed. “We’ll see to that tomorrow.”

“React?” Spike repeated. “You mean fight, right?”

She shook her head. “As far as I can tell, they’re humans, I won’t…”

“You’re fighting humans now?” Dawn piped up from where she stood at the counter.

“No I’m not,” Buffy retorted instantly.

“But they’re fighting you?” Dawn insisted, her eyes going from Buffy to Giles and finally Spike.

“Not so much fighting as annoying me. Nothing for you to worry about. How was school today?”

There was something in Dawn’s eyes, a flare of disappointment mixed with annoyance, gone so fast that Spike thought he had imagined it. He listened, amused, as the two sisters bantered back and forth, but again caught the same vibe from Dawn as she complained that Buffy kept things from her. There seemed to be trouble brewing there. Maybe Buffy ought to have done something about it.

His suspicions turned out to be all too accurate that same night during Buffy’s birthday party. As he had slipped out of the house to smoke a cigarette before they had cake, he could hear Dawn’s loud protests inside about everyone acting strangely around her. He had noticed it too actually, there was something going on but he didn’t know what, and because he had no answer, he remained outside rather than try to insert himself in the mini-drama happening inside. The drama, however, came to him.

“What do you think you’re doing?” he asked Dawn, unsure whether to be pissed off or amused when he saw her climbing down from her window.

She was startled by his presence but for no longer than an instant, and then, she looked at him with determination.

“I’m going to the Magic Box,” she declared, her chin raised high.

“The hell you are!” he laughed. “T’s night if you haven’t noticed. And…”

“They’re hiding stuff from me,” she cut in abruptly. “I know they are. And I bet they’re hiding stuff from you too.”

He hated to admit it even to himself, but her words struck a chord in him. There had been indeed a few instances lately when he had wondered why the others stopped talking when he was approaching.

“I’m sure it’s all in Giles’ diary,” she insisted. “All we need to do is read it and we’ll know.”

Spike knew he should have led the kid back inside to confront the gang and get answers if there were answers to be had. Yet, he soon found himself accompanying Dawn to the store.

*****

“I tried to tell him,” Buffy said quietly to her friends while glancing again at the front door. Spike was taking an awful long time. Was he smoking the whole pack of cigarettes? Or maybe he had heard Dawn’s tantrum and had gone upstairs to talk to her. “Really, I’ve tried. It’s just… never the right time.”

Willow gave her a sympathetic smile. “I think you should tell him, though. He’s going to be upset when he finds out.”

“Upset doesn’t even begin to describe it, Red.”

A wave of cold slid through Buffy as she looked at Spike standing just inside the door. He looked like he was barely controlling his anger. But the worse though was that his hand was on Dawn’s arm as she stood in front of him, and Dawn looked… broken. Trembling from head to toes, it seemed as though the only thing holding her upright was Spike’s hand.

“Am I real?” she asked, her voice almost too shaky to recognize the words, and Buffy wanted to weep.

Moments later, when the guests had been ushered away, when Dawn had been told what they knew and had fallen asleep crying, Buffy found herself face to face with Spike in the entrance hall. He still seemed angry, but she had the same anger for him.

“She shouldn’t have found out like that,” she told him icily.

“No, she should have found out from you. But you weren’t gonna tell her, were you? Everybody but her. Wait. _Nearly_ everybody.”

She refused to hear the reproach in his voice. She had been going to tell him, if he had just waited instead of running off into the night.

“I can’t believe you took her to the store. I can’t believe you’d be so careless…”

“Careless?” he snorted. “If I hadn’t gone with her, she’d have found a way to go by herself. Better if she had someone to protect her…”

“You didn’t protect her! You helped her break into a store! You caused her to find out…”

His eyes flared gold. “No, Slayer. I didn’t cause anything. I was there for the ride, that’s all. _You_ caused it. You should have told her. Hell, you should have told _me_ , and I’d have told you as much. Don’t try to pin the blame on me now.”

For a few seconds, they glared at each other, each of them too hurt to listen to the other. Spike finally left, the door banging shut behind him, and Buffy walked back up to her room. Her birthdays definitely weren’t going any better as years passed.

*****

As she ran out into the night, Dawn could have sworn she could still smell the paper and ink burning behind her. Her whole life, her whole fake life, was disappearing in flames, back to the nothingness to which it belonged, and there was a part of poetic justice to that. It was all a lie, everything she knew, everything she had thought she was, all an elaborate lie to which magic had given life. And despite what Buffy and Joyce were pretending, she knew that they didn’t see her as a sister or daughter. She had heard them. They didn’t know what or who she was any more than she did, but what they all could agree on was that she wasn’t Dawn Summers. And they had all lied to her.

There was one person though who hadn’t lied. One person who had been kept in the dark, as she had been, and who had found out at the same time as she had. She wondered what Spike thought about all of this, whether he still liked her even a little or if his affection had had no greater roots than the monks’ spell. She had heard him argue with Buffy the previous night; he was at least as angry as she was.

Walking through a cemetery at night probably wasn’t the smartest thing to do, but it wasn’t as if she had a life to lose after all if she didn’t really exist. She knocked on Spike’s door, waited for a little moment, knocked again, unable to stop herself from throwing nervous glances around her. When no answer came, she pushed the heavy door open and walked in, calling out his name. He wasn’t there. 

Disappointed, she sat on his sofa and stared at the blank television. It was like her; no stories until someone turned the power on. But she must have been something even before that. And if she had, someone must know what. The faint noise of an ambulance siren in the distance reminded her of what else she had learned the previous night; crazy people could see right through her. Maybe they could tell her what they saw.

*****

_I was out of my crypt seconds after sunset, that night. That wasn’t unusual. What was on the other hand was that I didn’t go and find the Slayer. I had been pacing in my crypt all day, thinking over the latest events repeatedly, and I needed fresh air, metaphorically speaking. I needed, also, to let off some pent up energy._

_It was by accident that I run across Buffy. She was alone and clearly upset. She told me in a few words about Dawn running off, and of course, I offered to help. All I needed was to find Dawn’s trail, and we started walking in silence. After a little while, she apologized. Well, actually, she never said she was sorry, but she did say I was right and she should have told me, and Dawn, rather than let us find out the hard way. Good enough for me._

_We found the rest of the gang first, and then Dawn in the hospital – but not before Glory had gotten to her. As weird as it may sound, that was probably a good thing; Glory was the only one who could give Dawn the answers she needed about what the Key was exactly. That, and Buffy finally letting go of the Slayer armor to act as a sister, made the Bit calm down and return to normal levels of teenage drama. We brought her back home, and I left when the gang did. It was Summers time, and I didn’t want to intrude. Also, my own thoughts were still as much of a mess as before, and I needed to clear up my mind._

_I have to say, the one thing I felt most acutely was the sting of betrayal. Whatever her reasons, Buffy hadn’t told me, and that alone hurt. Yeah, I know now she did it to try to protect me, but it still hurts. It was one of the most important secrets she could have shared with me, and the fact remains that she did not. She told Giles, she told the gang, and I had to find out for myself._

_Thing was, I hadn’t found out alone, and despite having told Buffy that she was responsible for Dawn deciding to figure out what was being hidden from her, the truth is I felt guilty. I should have talked Dawn out of going to the Magic Box. I’m supposed to be the oldest one of the lot, and I acted as if I was no older than the Nibblet. Without me, she might not have managed to break into the store. She might have run into trouble on her way, too, but that’s a whole different matter._

_So, betrayal, guilt, and to make things even more complex, anger. I don’t like magic. I don’t like magic performed on me; and that was what the monks had done. They had mucked with my brain, with my memories and feelings. They made me remember Dawn where she had never set foot. They made me love her, never gave me a choice about it, and I hated that._

_I brooded about it all night. But when Buffy came to me in the morning, I had made my peace with all of it, and I made my peace with her, too. We talked, we shagged, and stood again stronger from one more stumble. Warned you it wouldn’t be a smooth ride, didn’t I?_

_As for Dawn… It didn’t matter how she had come into play or what she was exactly. Who she was, was the closest thing I had ever had to a kid sister, and that was what mattered in the end._


	16. Jealousy

The band playing on the newly remodeled Bronze’s scene was decent, but despite all her efforts, Buffy couldn’t convince Spike of the fact and he stubbornly refused to dance with her.

“What happened to the ‘you should make me dance with you more often’ line?” she teased him.

“It disappeared along with good music and the blooming onion,” he shot back and took a swig of his beer. “How can anyone dance on that, anyway?”

She laughed and pointedly looked at the Scoobies on the dance floor.

“Rather easily, I think.”

“You call that dancing?” he snickered. “It looks more like they’re having convulsions. Where’s the fun in that?”

She grinned at him. “Oh, excuse me, shall I go ask the orchestra to play a waltz?”

“How ‘bout some Ramones instead?”

“Like you can dance to that!” she laughed.

“Of course you can, luv, only need to know how. I’ll show you some day.”

Buffy said nothing but smiled indulgently as she looked back to the dance floor and her friends there. Spike was an example of coordination and grace when it came to fighting, but as far as dancing was concerned, she was beginning to have strong suspicions about his inability to dance to anything with a rhythm faster than that of a waltz. A _slow_ waltz. She found his refusal to admit this one weakness rather… endearing.

“You can go, you know,” Spike said abruptly, and she faced him once more. “If you want to go dance with them, I don’t mind watching.”

The last part had just enough of a leer that Buffy found herself blushing at the memory the seemingly innocuous words brought forth. Spike loved watching her, she had known that for a while, and had had one more proof of it only the previous night, when murmured words and the quiet but intense fire in his eyes had urged her on as she brought herself off for him.

“I… I’d rather stay,” she stammered. “Here. With you. And they’re coming back anyway.”

His quiet laugh made it all too clear that he knew exactly what effect his words had had on her, but he thankfully said nothing that would have embarrassed her as the gang joined them.

“Ladies?” he said pleasantly as their friends sat down. “May I offer you drinks, courtesy of my hard earned cash?”

“Hard earned?” Xander snorted. “You mean blatantly stolen.”

“Ever been told you’re a sore loser, Harris?”

“No, but then people who have cheated me out of _my_ hard earned cash rarely stick around to gloat about it afterwards.”

A pause and Xander realized what he had just admitted. “Not that it happens often,” he belatedly defended his honor. “Or ever.”

“Exactly,” Spike took him up to his word. “Never happened. So, I didn’t cheat. Not my fault if you can’t hold a cue. Come to think of it, it’s a miracle you didn’t manage to stake yourself during all these years.”

“Spike, play nice,” Buffy intervened, chiding gently.

“But I was nice. Or trying to be. Offered you all a drink, didn’t I?”

His wide-eyed innocence fooled no one, but they all gave him their order and Xander accompanied him to the bar to help carry the drinks back. Buffy watched them go; they were still bantering, and she smiled to herself. It was good to see Spike finally act as if he belonged in the group – which he did, even if he sometimes seemed to doubt that fact. It was good also to be back to full trust with him. No more secrets now that he knew about Dawn. No guilt nagging at Buffy because she was keeping things from him.

She knew she had hurt him, he had said as much when they had talked about it, but she was certain that it wasn’t the only thing that had upset him. He had hinted at the fact that once more, someone had magically played with their minds and feelings, and she knew he hated that. He had hated it when Willow had forced her wish on them, and when Jonathan had played with their memories, even if both events had had interesting developments for them as a couple. He obviously hated it now too, even if the monks had given them a precious gift with Dawn.

They had made up, to her surprise, rather quickly. Could it be that they were getting better at it, she wondered? They had to, seeing how much practice they were getting. With their tempers and so much going on in their lives, they had been arguing a lot, she realized. She wanted to believe that it didn’t mean their relationship was in danger. After all, they always made up. And they tried to talk things through. A little arguing meant nothing. 

But she was tired of it, tired of losing precious time together because of what were too often misunderstandings. They both had so much in their pasts, it was sometimes hard to take things at face value. But with lives like theirs, full of patrols, demons, danger, and even a not exactly friendly god, who knew what tomorrow would be like – if tomorrow ever came. Life was too short to argue, or so Buffy had decided her new motto would be.

That was why, when she noticed Ben across the room and went to thank him for helping Dawn at the hospital, she did not linger with him more than a few seconds. No need to give Spike the smallest hint of a reason to be jealous.

Although a jealous Spike – fierce and possessive – wasn’t always a bad thing, she pondered as she returned to the table and saw that he had noticed whom she had been talking to. She couldn’t help grinning at the hint of gold that colored the blue of his eyes even as he pretended nothing had happened. Oh yes, jealous might not be so bad after all; she had a feeling their night would be interesting.

And when, two hours later, Spike claimed her with lips, teeth, fingers and cock and left her breathless and dazed, she grinned to herself and had just enough brains left to her to make a mental note. Jealousy wasn’t so bad after all.

*****

When Spike had jokingly asked the female Watcher for a copy of her thesis, he hadn’t actually expected her to follow through on that request. That was why he had been rather surprised when, only hours after his interrogation by the trio of Watchers, a knock on his door had revealed a flustered woman, who had carefully stayed in the sunlight but who had also handed him a thick folder entitled ‘William the Bloody, the Slayer of Slayers, an Analysis’.

The surprises hadn’t stopped there. As he had thought, a lot of the thesis was rubbish, for example, the theory that Angelus had resented William’s inclusion into their clan and consequently refused to teach him anything, which the author had proved by how different their killing techniques were. That little theory couldn’t have been farther from the truth. But some parts were startlingly accurate, and left Spike rather contemplative of the trail he had left behind him through the years.

It had never occurred to him that Watchers obtained police records or witness accounts, and had been doing so for centuries; and except for a few holes when the Council lost trace of him, the biographical part of the document followed him across countries and continents for a large part of a century. Apparently, they had already been keeping an eye on Angelus and Darla, and his addition to the family had, at first, been nothing more than a subfolder in the Watchers’ files, until he had started commanding their attention by himself.

It made him more than uneasy that the Council knew so much about what he had done since having been turned, and it brought forth the question about what they knew of his current activities. Since Giles now worked for them again, was he filling them in on the events since Spike’s arrival on the Hellmouth, which was where the biographical part of the thesis ended? He would need to ask him, and make sure that Giles understood that Spike didn’t particularly enjoy his every move being documented.

If the biographical part was, for the most part, accurate since it relied heavily on documented facts, the would-be analysis of Spike’s actions and motivations was on the other hand completely off the chart and laughable.

He was actually in the middle of a laugh – the Watcher’s attempt at explaining what killing his first Slayer must have meant to Spike was downright hilarious – when the crypt door opened and a slip of a girl walked in.

Dawn seemed a little hesitant but curious as she approached the sarcophagus on top of which he was sitting with pages spread in front of him. He gathered the loose leafs, unwilling to let her see what he was reading, and watched warily as she came closer. He had not talked to her since they had returned to Revello from the Magic Box on Buffy’s birthday, and still he had a pang of residual guilt that he had helped her find out the truth in such an abrupt and painful way. As a result, he wasn’t too sure how to act with her.

“Hey Nibblet. Big sis knows you’re here?”

A pout pulled at her lips. “Can we go five minutes without talking about her?” she asked, sulking a little. “I just wanted to see you.”

“You did, huh?”

By pure habit, he pulled out his cigarettes and lit one, belatedly realizing that he was only making his case worse. Buffy had been overly protective of Dawn since her birthday. She wouldn’t be happy that the kid had come here by herself; she would be even less pleased if Spike exposed her to second-hand smoking. Of course, even without Buffy’s disapproval, he didn’t want to poison Dawn. Such a Big Bad, he was…

He took a single, deep drag on the cigarette, and put it out against the stone sarcophagus.

“Watcha reading?” she asked, nodding at the closed folder in front of him.

“Nonsense, for the most part.”

She didn’t seem satisfied by his answer and reached for the file. He pulled it away from her and tisked.

“More secrets,” she sniffled and gave him a patented trembling bottom lip look.

“Not gonna work,” he chuckled, calling her on it, and she grinned sheepishly. “Bet you’ve been playing that card with your mum and Buffy, huh?”

His wild guess seemed to hit rather accurately as a little red colored her cheeks.

“I like how you don’t treat me any differently,” she said after a second, and she wasn’t joking anymore. “Everybody else is all twitchy and secretive.”

He had noticed that too, but then that had been to be expected from the gang; subtlety was hardly their forte.

“Doesn’t matter to me what you are,” he shrugged. “Or were. Have my own little theory about how it’s who you choose to be that’s important.”

A lopsided smile bloomed on her lips. “Like you.”

He nodded. “Like me.”

“’Cause you’re a vamp and all, but you’re nice and you’re my friend and you’re gonna tell me what you were reading.”

Spike wasn’t sure whether it was the confidence in her tone or her bright smile, but he found himself wavering. What harm could it do if she read about what he had once done? She knew he hadn’t always fed on animal blood, and if he selected what he let her read, she might find the overwritten and sometimes almost lyrical prose of the Watcher amusing.

He regretted his decision two hours later, when Buffy strode in, alarmed that her sister hadn’t returned home after school. She was less than pleased to find Dawn there, and her irritation, Spike soon discovered, wasn’t directed only toward the kid.

“You were supposed to come home right after school,” she scolded Dawn. “And instead you go around wandering in cemeteries. You are _so_ grounded.”

Dawn pouted. “Like anything was going to attack me in full daylight. I just wanted to hang out with Spike.”

“Yeah, and Spike should have known better than to let you stay,” Buffy retorted, her glaring shifting from Dawn to him. “Mom and I were going insane with worry, and it turns out Dawn was here all this time.”

“’M sorry,” he replied, truthfully contrite. “I meant to send her home and… we kinda got distracted.”

Buffy grumbled but she seemed to be softening. “It’d better not happen again,” she sighed, and Spike slid off his seat on the sarcophagus to get closer to her. She slipped into his arms for a kiss, eliciting a gagging noise from Dawn.

“I’d keep a low profile if I were you,” Buffy warned her as they separated, and Spike bit back a chuckle. “And pack your stuff, you’re going home for a mom scolding.”

Mumbling under her breath, Dawn gathered the loose sheets in a pile before slipping off the tomb herself.

“Spike?” she asked, and he glanced back at her from where he was retrieving his duster. “Can I take the story home to finish reading it?”

As he answered negatively, he cringed at Buffy’s obvious sudden interest in what they had been doing.

“What story is that?” she asked, reaching for the folder; Spike tried to take it before she did but he was too late, and could only frown and worry as she started paging through it.

“It’s about Spike before,” Dawn piped in, clearly delighted that for once she was the one who knew more than Buffy did. “You know, when he was a real vamp…”

“Hey!” he objected, offended. “The real vamp is right there and you’d better take that back!”

Her eyes widened under his glare as she realized her gaffe. “I didn’t mean it like that,” she said quickly. “I meant, I feel safe with you.”

“And you feel safe after reading about how many people Spike killed in 1885,” Buffy commented blankly, looking up from the thesis in her hands.

Spike winced. “I didn’t let her read that,” he tried to explain. “I just…”

She shook her head and handed the folder back to him. “Save it. We’ll talk about what’s appropriate reading material for my little sister later. When said sister is home and grounded.”

Dawn threw Spike an apologetic look as the three of them left the crypt, to which he answered with a slight shrug. It wasn’t as if she had forced him to let her stay or to show her the thesis. He had ways to deal with Buffy’s crankiness, and in this instance, he suspected that it was more her worry about Dawn’s disappearance than about what she had read that kept her quiet all the way to Revello.

“I really was careful about what I let her see,” he told her when, alone at last, they started patrolling.

She shook her head but threaded her arm through his, confusing him. “Yeah, I’m sure you were, but did she still need to read about that? She’s only fourteen, Spike.”

“And she knows what I am. What I’ve done. Doesn’t change anything.” He considered her for an instant before adding very quietly: “Or does it?”

She seemed to understand that he wasn’t talking about Dawn anymore. “No, it doesn’t change anything,” she conceded softly. “Although your girlfriend might have liked the first look at your autobiography.”

Her mock offended tone, as much as her words, made him chuckle. “Not my work, luv. It’s from the Watcher girl that came along with the Council. Looks like she had a weakness where I’m concerned.”

There was no mistaking the hint of jealousy in Buffy’s tightening jaw, and Spike, amused, held her a little closer before changing the subject.

“Where are we going?” he asked as she was directing their steps away from the closest graveyard. “Special patrol tonight?”

“I want to check the train that came in town today. Six people on board were dead. Neck traumas.”

They had to cross crime scene tape to get to the passenger car, and Buffy produced a small flashlight from her pocket as she started looking for clues. Spike didn’t have a light, but he unconsciously assumed his demon features and used his enhanced senses to confirm what he had begun to suspect upon climbing aboard the car. A familiar scent was lingering, and it didn’t take him long to find the material proof that verified his suspicion. For a few seconds, he hesitated; he was sure he could deal with what was going on before Buffy even knew who was responsible. What she didn’t know wouldn’t hurt her. But then, only a few days before he had reproached her from keeping important things from him. Doing the same now might be more than a tad hypocritical.

Steeling himself, he grabbed the blindfolded doll in the overhead compartment and cleared his throat to get Buffy’s attention.

“Found something?” she asked immediately as she directed her flashlight to what he was holding.

“Yes,” he replied coolly. “I know who did it. And I have a request.”

She came closer and he could see that she was frowning.

“What request?”

“Let me deal with it.”

Another step closer and she took the doll from him. She examined it for an instant, and when she looked back up at Spike again the question was plain on her face.

“Dru,” he confirmed. “I can take care of it.”

“Take care of it?” she repeated blankly, but her tone quickly changed to mild irritation. “What do you mean exactly by take care? ‘Cause if you mean stake, that’s definitely something I can help with. Being the Slayer and all. And how can it be her anyway? When did she escape Acathla?”

He told her, then, about the last time he had seen Drusilla, about how he had pieced together that he had gotten a drunken wish out of a vengeance demon, and how Dru had left after realizing he was in love with Buffy. His explanation elicited a couple of frowns, and when he was done, Buffy shook her head. Before she could say what she had in mind, he took her hand and squeezed it.

“I don’t think I’ve ever asked much from you,” he said quietly. “But today I am. Please, leave her to me.”

He could see the hesitation on her face, could see, also, the questions she wasn’t asking. But eventually, reluctantly, she agreed.

*****

All day long, Buffy thought about the promise Spike had managed to get from her, and all day long, she worried.

Drusilla was insane, but she was hardly a weakling. She had killed a Slayer. She was older than Spike. Obviously, she was feasting on human blood, whereas Spike had made do with animal, and as he had once grudgingly admitted, the diet didn’t leave him at top form. If they fought, Buffy was afraid that Spike wouldn’t be up to the challenge. Would she ever know it, if he were dusted? The idea was enough to make her nauseous. But it wasn’t even the worst of her thoughts.

What if they _didn’t_ fight? Spike had loved Drusilla for more than a century. She had made him what he was. She was the reason why he had even allied himself with Buffy in the first place. Now she was back in town. Could it be that, maybe, she wanted Spike back? What would his reaction be if she did? He and Buffy had only been together for a few months and they had argued so much already... What if, presented with the alternative, Spike chose the vampire over the Slayer? Was it why he had requested so insistently to be the one to deal with Dru?

Her insecurities rising with every new question, Buffy resisted until a little before sunset before finally giving up. She needed to see Spike before he went out and looked for Drusilla, needed to make sure that they were alright and that her fears were nothing more than irrational. The last thing she expected was to find Drusilla lounging on Spike’s sofa when she entered the crypt; and for a minute, she felt like her heart was being crushed. If the vampiress was here now, it meant that she had spent the full day in the crypt. Doing what?

“Thought we had agreed you’d let me deal with her?” Spike questioned as he rose from his armchair and came toward Buffy, stopping at the edge of the patch of sunlight that was falling in sideways through the open door. She flicked a brief glance at him before returning her attention to Drusilla. She had stood too and was returning Buffy’s look from behind Spike. But where he seemed edgy, the vampiress’ grin was simply disturbing. What did she have to be happy about? Buffy’s fears increased tenfold.

“I… just wanted to talk to you,” she managed to utter despite the tightening of her throat.

Drusilla took a few slow steps toward them, still grinning unsettlingly. Buffy felt her body tense, readying for battle, and was almost startled when Spike moved sideways so that he stood between her and Drusilla.

“Looks to me like you want to fight, not talk,” he said blankly.

“Funny, because from where I stand it looks like the opposite. What is she doing here? And why isn’t she dust?”

Spike’s eyes narrowed, and for a second it looked as if he was going to cross the two steps that separated them. He didn’t though, and Buffy briefly wondered why, before realizing she was still standing in the light.

“Don’t tell me you’re jealous, luv,” he said after considering her for an instant. “You know I love you.”

Rather than reassuring her, the words felt cold to Buffy, maybe because Drusilla had moved behind Spike, and was now looking at Buffy over his shoulder.

“That still doesn’t tell me why she’s not dust yet,” she said, more harshly than she meant to.

“Because he can’t kill me, silly girl,” Drusilla laughed. “You can change him but…”

Spike looked back at her and he sounded annoyed when he interrupted her. “You’re not helping your case, Dru. She tries to take you down, I’m not gonna stop her.”

The semi threat quieted Drusilla; and as a petulant look settled on her features, Buffy noticed for the first time the burnt marks on her face and neck. Before she could wonder about them though, Spike had turned back to her, his eyes pleading.

“I love you,” he repeated, his voice almost trembling with intensity. “You’re all I bloody think about. Dream about…”

He paused then, and Buffy had the distinct impression that he had been about to say more. He shook his head lightly before continuing.

“If you ask me to stake Dru, I will. And she should know it by now.”

Behind him, Drusilla stilled, her face now completely blank of expression. A gentle hand cupping her face brought Buffy’s eyes back to Spike, the sun having receded enough to clear the way between them.

“But I’d rather not do it,” he added quietly. “I love you, but I can’t forget everything that happened in my past.”

Unable to say a word, Buffy merely nodded to show that she understood. A faint smile appeared on his lips, and suddenly he was holding her. Buffy couldn’t have told which of them had moved to the other.

“Dru, sun’s down, time to leave,” he said calmly. “And remember, no coming back this time.”

Buffy shut her eyes and forced herself not to move even as everything in her screamed that she had to dust Drusilla before she left. She was a killer, she couldn’t be allowed to walk free like this. Yet, Buffy still wasn’t moving, and it had everything and nothing to do with Spike’s arms around her.

“Poor Spike,” Drusilla sighed, and her voice came from behind Buffy now. “So lost. Even I can’t help you now.”

Retreating steps announced her departure. Buffy didn’t move or open her eyes.

“I hope you never have to regret this, Spike,” she murmured.

“So do I, luv.”

*****

_I think the Slayer knew, when I first asked her to let me deal with Dru, that I wasn’t planning to stake her. I think she didn’t insist to know what I intended to do because if she didn’t ask, she could pretend to herself that I had dusted Drusilla. That’s my Slayer. White-hat to the core and so uncomfortable when she has to deal with zones of gray. It sometimes makes me wonder how she can even tolerate being with me, because I don’t think anyone can boast being grayer than I can._

_It’s probably because she suspected that I wouldn’t kill Dru that she wasn’t any more upset when I let her leave my crypt and Sunnydale. I promised Buffy, as I had told Dru earlier that day, that I would dust her if she came back, which I didn’t think she would. And I was right, she never showed up again. Buffy accepted my words without the protests I had anticipated. I could tell that it wasn’t easy for her to let a vampire go like this – not just any vampire, but one who had killed a Slayer, and who just two nights before had created carnage in the train. I couldn’t leave it alone, of course, so I asked her why she wasn’t fighting my decision. The first thing she said was that I shouldn’t question her too much or she might change her mind and go after Dru. I’m not too sure whether she was joking or not. I held her to me, just in case; I think she knew what I was doing and she laughed a little._

_Then she told me, so quietly that I almost had trouble hearing her, that she didn’t want to argue with me about that too. That there was too much going on in our lives already to allow exes to make things even more complicated than they already were. She said she knew she’d regret it later, when she let herself think on how many people would die because she had allowed Drusilla to walk free, but she was ready to face the guilt when it came. There wasn’t much I could say to that, was it? I’ve tried since to show her that she just can’t save everyone. There’ll always be more vampires than she can slay, and maybe her role isn’t so much to annihilate all evil, as it is to make sure evil doesn’t annihilate everything._

_The one thing I couldn’t have agreed more with that night was that we couldn’t let out exes mess things up._


	17. Road Trip

As Spike saw it, there were both advantages and disadvantages to living in a crypt. The main advantage being that he was front and center for the slaying; it wasn’t uncommon for him to find a rising fledgling when he first came out every night. On the other hand, one of the disadvantages was the blatant lack of parking spaces. And that was why, cigarette hanging from his lips and determined stride in his step, he was on his way to the Crawford Street mansion.

He hadn’t needed the car since the previous summer and the trip to the beach he had made with Buffy. For a while, he distracted himself with the memory. They had had a lovely time, picnicking under the almost full moon before a bit of ‘I dare you’ skinny-dipping. Normal things that, he supposed, normal people did. They were like a normal couple sometimes, or so he wanted to believe. They argued like most couples did. They made up. They laughed. They talked. They worked together. They watched movies and drank the sinful hot chocolate Joyce made. Normal, if you overlooked the fact that one of them had a Destiny with a capital D, and the other lacked a pulse.

Sometimes though, normal didn’t even begin to cover what they had. In a normal relationship, there was no need to debate killing an ex-girlfriend when she resurfaced. There was no need, either, to wonder if an ex-boyfriend had suddenly lost his soul and was about to pillage and rampage, and in general make more of a nuisance of his brooding self than he usually did. And that was exactly why Spike went to the mansion, retrieved the DeSoto in the garage, and sped off toward Los Angeles. He wasn’t worried about Dru anymore. But he was, more than ever, about Angel, as he had explained to Buffy a little while earlier.

*****

_“Dru, sun’s down, time to leave. And remember, no coming back this time.”_

_His voice sounded calmer than he felt inside, and Spike had no clue how he had managed that. He just knew it was necessary, both to let Drusilla understand that he wasn’t joking and had meant everything he had said earlier, and to impress on Buffy that he knew what he was doing. In truth, he had no doubt about his actions. He would have killed Drusilla if it had been necessary, but it wasn’t, and that was the end of it as far as he was concerned. But he doubted Buffy would see it quite that way. Even now, with his arms wrapped around her waist and Drusilla walking around them and toward the door, she was tense, ready to spring in action, and he wasn’t sure she wouldn’t. He struggled not to tighten his hold on her. If only Drusilla would hurry out…_

_“Poor Spike. So lost. Even I can’t help you now.”_

_There was a true sadness in Dru’s words, and Spike wondered if she was sad that he had refused to go with her, or sad that he had refused because of the Slayer. She finally left the crypt with a last glance at him, and he held her gaze, saying a silent goodbye, until she turned away again. They might meet again, some day._

_“I hope you never have to regret this, Spike,” Buffy murmured._

_“So do I, luv. But she won’t be back. I told her I’d dust her if she did.”_

_She sighed, and Spike knew she wasn’t convinced, far from it; yet, she had allowed Dru to leave. He hesitated, but in the end he couldn’t help himself and needed to know why she wasn’t fighting his decision._

_“Maybe you shouldn’t question me so much,” she replied, sounding very serious despite the hint of a smile on her lips. “I might change my mind if you do.”_

_Spike’s arms tightened around her, just a little, as if he could stop her if she did decide to change her mind; she let out a quiet laugh, soon muffled against his chest._

_“I’m tired of arguing with you,” she murmured after an instant. “I just don’t want to argue about her, too. There’s so much going on… it looks like every other day something new is coming up. No need to let our exes mess things up even more.”_

_She paused for a brief instant, then added, sounding almost resigned: “I know I’ll regret it later. I let her walk free, and she’s going to kill, and it’ll be my fault when she does…”_

_“Luv, please…”_

_“And I’ll face the guilt when I have to,” she continued, ignoring his interruption. Spike didn’t know how to reply. She couldn’t save everyone from vampires. By the sheer numbers alone, she’d never be able to. Some day, she would need to understand that, before it destroyed her. In the meantime, there was something else that needed dealing with._

_“You said we can’t let our exes mess thing up,” he repeated quietly as he tilted her face up to him with a finger under her chin. “I couldn’t agree more. That’s why I need to go to LA.”_

_Her frown made it all to clear that she understood where this was going. “Angel?” she breathed._

_Spike nodded. “From what Drusilla said… I’m not sure whether it’s Angel or Angelus. Looks like Red’s spell might not have been foolproof after all. And the last thing we need on top of Glory and your friends the knights is Angelus coming back to town for a bit of fun.”_

_“I’m coming with you.”_

_The determination in her voice made Spike want to smile, but he suppressed the urge. “No you’re not,” he replied. “Dawn needs you here. I can take care of him if it comes to that.”_

_Her eyebrows twitched and he could see that she hesitated about saying something. He snorted lightly._

_“Humor me, luv, and at least pretend to believe I can take him down if I need to.”_

_She blushed faintly but did not try to deny that she was having doubts about his abilities to win a fight over Angelus._

_“You’re not exactly at your top form,” she said cautiously. “Maybe I…”_

_“No,” he cut in. “I’m going by myself and there’s no arguing about that. For all we know, Angel is just fine with his bloody soul still pestering him.”_

_She wasn’t happy about any of it, he could tell as much; but whatever doubts or reservations she still had, she kept them to herself and simply asked him to be careful and to come back soon._

__

*****

Even pushing the DeSoto to its limits had not been enough, and the sun had been about to rise when Spike had finally made it to LA the previous night. He had spent his day chain-smoking and keeping out of the sun, waiting for sunset to finally be able to approach Angel – or Angelus. He had thought a lot, too much, probably, about what he would tell his grandsire, what he would do exactly, and now that he was in front of Angel’s home, he didn’t know anymore.

He had been standing across the street from Angel’s hotel for a little while now. Angel always had a weakness for imposing accommodations; some things just didn’t change. Spike had noticed no movement since he had arrived, and he wondered whether Angel still worked with the humans he had mentioned the last time they had talked. Were they inside or was Angel alone? It was late, so they might have turned in already. On the other hand, Angel might not even be there.

Realizing that he was delaying the moment when he would find out which version of Angel they now had to deal with, Spike gritted his teeth. He certainly wasn’t going to let himself be intimidated. If it was Angel, he deserved a serious ass kicking for what he had done to Dru. Strangely enough, Spike wouldn’t have been so upset if he had simply staked her. It was his method that angered him. However dysfunctional, they were supposed to be a family. Setting her – and Darla, but who cared about the freakishly-brought-back-to-life-and-vamped-again-bitch – on fire without even sticking around long enough to make sure they were dust had been nothing but cruelty. And that was why Spike suspected it wasn’t Angel, but Angelus who now presided over that thick skull. Cruelty had often been Angelus’ weapon of choice to wield on those who had angered him. But that brought the question of why he had been so upset with Dru and Darla if all they had wanted was a family reunion. That left the possibility that the wanker was simply insane – and that was Spike’s favorite alternative. He knew how to deal with insanity. He knew, also, not to bother asking too many questions when someone wasn’t quite there.

*****

_As he returned to his crypt with sunrise less than half an hour away, Spike could feel his weariness sink down to his very bones, and it had nothing to do with the lovely time he and Buffy had had after their inspection of the train. Although lovely might not have been the best word to describe it. Heated, passionate… almost frantic… He had a feeling that Buffy had tried very hard to express in a way different than words that he was her partner now, and that Drusilla’s return to town changed nothing between them. Maybe he had made a mistake when he had told her who was responsible for the train’s attack; maybe it would have been easier to simply keep that bit of knowledge from her. But in the last few months, with trials and errors, he had started to realize that easier did not always mean better, or right. He only hoped Buffy’s jealousy wouldn’t make things any more difficult than they already were. He wasn’t sure yet what he would tell Dru when he saw her. And he had no doubt he would see her, she hadn’t returned to Sunnydale to avoid him._

_She proved him right when he entered the crypt and discovered that Drusilla had been waiting for him. He observed her warily for a few seconds, and she did the same, silent until she approached him, a red rose in her hands._

_“Hello, pretty Spike. Look who’s come to make everything right again.”_

_“Wasn’t aware anything was wrong,” he replied cautiously, and moved sideways to keep a couple of steps between them. As he came to see the side of her face, he noticed the burnt marks there, continuing down to her neck and chest. “How did you get hurt?” he asked, concern tainting his voice._

_She raised a hand to her face and her fingers traced the burn without touching it. “Angelus got mad at me and my daughter,” she murmured. “All we wanted was to be a family again.”_

_“Your daughter?” Spike repeated and unconsciously looked around, wondering if he had missed Dru’s new toy hiding somewhere around._

_“Yes!” she said joyously, and clapped her hands. “They brought back grandma and I got to make her all over again! She tasted so pretty… But not as pretty as my William.”_

_Through his confusion, Spike still noticed that she shimmied her way closer to him, her look now that of a hopeful child. “I miss my William. I miss us being a family.”_

_He shook his head, and this time held his ground. “Not gonna happen, pet. I’ve got myself a nice sweet life here, and I…”_

_Her tongue clucked, scolding. “Nice and sweet? When all you ever wanted was fire and blood? Can’t you see she’s killing my William?”_

_There was no need to ask who ‘she’ was. No need either for Spike to think back to the first Slayer’s words, and yet they echoed in his mind louder than they had in a few weeks._

_“No one is killing me, Dru. And no one will. I am perfectly content as I am…”_

_Again, she interrupted him abruptly. “Content? When was the last time you hunted, my naughty boy? When did you last feed on life itself, so warm and singing in your veins like pure poetry?” Slowly, she walked around him as she talked, until she came to a halt standing right in front of him. “When was the last time you didn’t feel hunger, my poor, poor Spike?”_

_Words caught in his throat, Spike remained immobile and silent as Drusilla’s hand raised and hovered over his temple._

_“You’re a killer,” she crooned. “Born for blood. No bit of metal and electricity should stop you. And neither should a Slayer.”_

_“Dru…”_

_Her eyes were wide, almost hypnotic, but he knew, somehow, that she wasn’t trying to thrall him. A thrall wouldn’t have lasted more than a few hours, and if she truly wanted him back, she needed him to be willing just a tad longer than that._

_“She’s killing you,” she repeated. “Taking every bit that was you away. What happens when you’re empty and not Spike anymore? What will she do, then? Cast you aside or finally give you peace?”_

_“You’re one to talk about casting aside,” he regained his footing along with some old anger. “Leaving me like you did, with barely a goodbye!”_

_With a sigh, she turned her back on him. “She was blinding you already. I had to let you get burnt so that you’d see she isn’t for you.”_

_“Right,” he snorted. “Of course. Buffy’s fault. And how do you explain falling back into Angelus’ bed and all but forgetting that I existed? Or are you going to blame that one on the Slayer too? She didn’t make you forget the century I spent taking care of you. You did that all by yourself.”_

_“And I paid the price for that in hell, didn’t I?” she shot back as she faced him once more; her voice was ice._

_Long seconds, then minutes passed in silence as they stared at each other. Spike bit back the words that he wasn’t responsible for her little trip through Acathla, despite the old guilt resurfacing and claiming otherwise. He was the first to finally speak, and he struggled to put as much determination in his words as he could summon. She seemed a little less insane than she had once been, or maybe she was going through one of her episodes of near-sanity, and he could only hope she would listen to him._

_“I will not return to you, Dru. I’m sure you know that already. I’ve found my place here with the Slayer, and I’m not going anywhere. But you… you need to leave. Because if you don’t, either she’ll stake you, or I will. You have to leave and not come back, pet.”_

_An immense sadness appeared on Drusilla’s features, and, after a few seconds, she nodded. Spike suppressed a relieved sigh; he had not dared hope that it would be so easy to convince her. Even the prospect of spending the day in the crypt with her since the sun had risen and made her departure difficult did not dampen his relief. Of course, it couldn’t have been that easy, and Buffy’s unexpected visit in the early evening brought the tension back up a few notches before Drusilla finally left for good._

__

*****

Angel had just finished a long exercise session when the last person he had expected to see entered his training room. Then again, seeing how old ghosts seemed to be reappearing to make his life hell, maybe he should have known Spike would drop by.

“Did you lose it?” Spike asked abruptly.

He stared at his grandchilde; he had an inkling of what ‘it’ was, but he didn’t see any reason to make things any easier for Spike.

“Did I lose what?”

“Your soul, you ponce. Whom am I talking to? Angel or Angelus?”

Old habits resurfaced more easily than Angel would have admitted, and his lips curled on a sneer. “Does it make a difference, boy? Seems to me you’ve never shown a bit of respect to either one.”

Spike’s frown and hesitation were priceless. Or would have been if Angel had been in a better mood.

“Get out of my way,” he barked before pushing by Spike and out of the room. He could tell, without looking back, that Spike followed but at a reasonable distance. Somehow, his caution was at the same time delicious and depressing. He made his way to what had once been his office – he didn’t need an office anymore – and grabbed the bottle of whisky on his desk before sinking into his chair and taking a swig. Spike remained standing by the door; he was still frowning, and Angel was almost certain that he was clutching a stake behind the cover of his duster’s pocket.

“I still have it,” Angel growled. “Anchored for good at your insistence, wasn’t it?”

Spike’s relief was almost audible, and Angel wanted to both laugh and weep. What difference did it make if he still had the damned soul or not?

“Want to tell me what game you played with Dru and Darla, then?”

Angel wasn’t even surprised to hear that Spike knew. He couldn’t make himself care about that more than he did about anything else. He took another mouthful of alcohol, relishing the burn down his throat.

“Isn’t everything we do nothing but a game?” he asked Spike, completely serious now. “Isn’t it a game for me to keep hoping for the prize the Powers That Be dangle in front of me to make me run even faster? Isn’t it a game for you to pretend you’re anything but a vampire? What’s the point, Spike? We’re damned, you and me, whether we have a soul or not. What’s the point of playing their game?”

“I’m not playing,” Spike denied strongly. “The Slayer…”

“Ah, but Buffy is part of the game herself, isn’t she?” Angel cut in with a shake of his head. “The white queen where we’re just pawns turned against our own side of the board, but even the queen can fall. What will happen when she does, Spike? What side will you play for, then?”

“You’re not making any sense, wanker.”

Angel ignored the insult, because he could see the flame of doubt in Spike’s eyes; was he also beginning to see how futile all of this was?

“I’m making too much sense, you mean. You know I’m right. Whatever act you’re playing for her, you know it’s not you. You’ll break, eventually. I know it. I did.”

Spike shook his head, denying whatever truth he was hearing, but Angel didn’t want to listen to anything he had to say.

“Leave. Go back to your theater, play the role of the perfect little vampire boyfriend. You’re not getting an Oscar for the role. There’s no prize distribution for that category.”

“Never asked for a prize,” Spike declared, chin held high, before striding away.

“No, I guess not,” Angel murmured, staring at the now empty doorway. “You just wanted Buffy, and you got her. What happens when you lose her too?”

*****

_My mood when I returned from LA? You don’t want to know. Really. I wouldn’t go as far as to say it’s a good thing I was chipped, but if I hadn’t been a few innocent – or not so innocent – bystanders might have been caught in the path of my frustration. Here I was, soulless and trying to be ‘good’, whatever that word means, because that was the way to be with the Slayer. A talk with a soulless vampire, the one vampire who had made me and knew me inside and out, had not even begun to shake my resolve. But a talk with a souled one had my mind swirling with questions about what was the purpose of it all, and whether changing my nature for a woman was worth the loss of who I really was._

_She’d die, as Angel had painfully reminded me, and I would live decades and centuries more after that. What would I do, then? Return to the core of what I was? Honor her memory and keep fighting her fight? I didn’t want to think about it. I didn’t want to think about life without her. But at that moment, I couldn’t not think about it, and for days, even weeks, the question remained at the back of my mind, until…_

_Right. What was I saying?_

_Oh yeah. I returned to Sunnyhell in a bloody murderous mood, and I did quite a number on the demon population of our dear old Hellmouth. And that’s where I heard about it. News travels fast, in the demon world; and apparently, the first bot had made a couple of encounters of the demony kind the previous night. I tracked down Warren. Passed my order. He wasn’t so happy about it but it’s always heartening what a little flash of fangs can do._

_I was so damn proud of my plan… Now I’m not stupid, I knew already that Buffy might not see my point immediately about the utility of a bot, but I had what I was sure were convincing arguments, and I was confident that I could persuade her. Also, I was hoping that particular discussion would distract her and that she’d forget to ask me about my trip and what had happened._

_As it turned out, we didn’t get to talk about the bot for a little while, and I didn’t need to provide a distraction._

_Joyce was dead._


	18. Cold Comfort

Grinning contentedly to himself, Spike walked away from Warren’s home, the frustration born from his trip to LA all but forgotten. A couple of weeks, the nerd had said, and the robot would be ready. One more pair of hands to take on the staking duty and relieve Buffy of some of the stress of patrol. It would probably take some convincing, but he knew he could show her the usefulness of his latest plan. Hopefully, he would be able to do that before the robot was actually ready.

Realizing that he wasn’t far from the Magic Box, he directed his steps toward the store. It might be a good idea to talk to Buffy’s Watcher first and to have a potential ally when he told her. It shouldn’t be too hard to make Rupert see the advantages of having an alternate Slayer. Of course, it all would depend on how close to the original Warren could make the robot, but the man had promised it would be able to fight.

Spike was disappointed but not completely surprised when he discovered that the shop was deserted. It was after all long past closing time, and he ought to have expected this. It was easy to forget that not everyone else followed the same kind of nightly patterns he did.

As he lit a cigarette in front of the shop, he pondered his next move. He could go and hunt up his Slayer; it was late, but she may still be patrolling. He could also go to Revello and quickly see whether she was there or not; if she was, some cuddling and more would be nice, and if she wasn’t, a cup of hot cocoa while waiting for her would be quite pleasant too. That and he hadn’t had a little chat with Joyce in a while.

His decision made, he made his way towards the Summers ladies’ home. He was only a couple of blocks from his destination when a car slowed down and came to a halt next to him. He glanced at the convertible and met Giles’ eyes; the dullness in them put Spike on alert. Something had happened, he was sure of it, and he could almost feel his chest constricting as fear seized him.

“Buffy?” he questioned without preamble, and felt relieved when Giles shook his head. The relief however was short lived.

“Not Buffy. It’s Joyce.”

*****

_Chattering voices were drifting from the dining room to the kitchen, but Spike wasn’t paying attention to what the Scoobies were blabbering on about. He handed Joyce the empty dishes he had brought in from the table. She accepted them with a gracious smile and left them on the counter before opening the oven to retrieve the pie. As he watched her, Spike leaned back against Buffy; she was standing behind him, her arms around his waist, and while he was more used to being the one holding her than the opposite, the position was as comforting as the evening had been._

_The holiday season didn’t mean much to vampires, although Spike could remember having offered gifts to Dru over the years, usually a young caroler; she had always seemed quite fond of them. But living as he now did in close proximity to humans, he had found himself drawn into the festivities without anyone ever wondering if, as a vampire, he even wanted to be included. He would have had trouble admitting it if asked, but he had enjoyed, more than any respectable demon should have, decorating the Summers house and his crypt –Buffy had insisted on hanging mistletoe there. He had enjoyed, also, the chase for trinkets that he hoped would bring a little light to his ladies’ eyes come morning. And he had enjoyed Christmas dinner with the whole gang, the whole family, sampling Joyce’s delicious cooking even as she had made sure to have blood at the perfect temperature for him._

_How much difference a year or two could make, he realized as Buffy teased both Giles and her mother with a mention of the band candy; he would have to ask her about that, the story sounded like it might be worth a laugh or two. Two years back, his souled self had been invited for dinner, but with old ghosts haunting both Angel and him the evening had been cut short. A year before, Spike had been a chipped and slightly reluctant guest for Joyce, barely starting to mend what bad timing had broken between Buffy and him. Now he was a guest again, although only for the evening and this time as Buffy’s official boyfriend rather than a simple vamp who needed protection. A definite improvement on all counts._

_He felt slightly bereft when Buffy left his back to help her mother with the pie, but it didn’t diminish his feeling of belonging. It had taken him a long time, but he had finally found a new family to be a part of again.  
_

*****

As she stood by the living room’s entrance, leaning against the doorjamb, Buffy stared straight ahead, not really seeing the darkened room in front of her. Instead, she could see all too clearly in her mind the scene she had discovered only hours earlier. She could see her mom, lying still and lifeless on the sofa. She could see the paramedics kneeling on the floor and trying to reanimate her. On the other hand, she couldn’t see anymore her little fantasy of arriving in time and saving her mom. Joyce was dead, and it was finally starting to sink in.

Part of her mind had noticed that there were no more sounds in the house, no more muffled sobs, and she thought, briefly, about going to check on Dawn. She must have fallen asleep, and she wouldn’t refuse Buffy’s presence anymore as she had earlier. Still, Buffy didn’t move and kept looking at the darkness. She was still there when the front door opened and Giles walked in, the overnight bag he had gone to fetch in one hand and Spike in tow.

Only when she saw him come in did Buffy realize that she had not thought of Spike once since finding her mom. Strange, seeing as how she had thought so much about him before that while dealing with Warren’s robot girlfriend. She had worried about what was happening in Los Angeles, wondered when he would be back, pondered her relationship with him even as she listened to April talk about what good girlfriends did. It had become clear, then, that she was changing herself to be a good girlfriend, allowing a murderous and insane vampiress to walk free simply because Spike had asked. She wasn’t comfortable with the idea, far from it; but at the same time, she didn’t see what else she could have done.

All of these thoughts tried to come back at once to the front of her mind as Spike silently came to her and hugged her. She tried to push them back, tried to push all thoughts and memories away so that she could enjoy the safety and comfort of his embrace. All day long, she had been incredibly lonely, but had never thought to stop and ask herself what was wrong, other than the obvious. Now, she realized that what she had missed was Spike’s presence at her side, his strength supporting her without her ever needing to ask. 

The realization brought forth a shattering question. When had she become so reliant on him? She used to be strong in and from herself; had she lost that when becoming so close to Spike?

Despite how much better, warmer she felt in his arms, she drew away from him, avoiding his gaze as she stepped back. She had to find the strength to deal with this herself. Not only that, but she felt guilty about these few seconds of love and comfort when it hadn’t been a full day yet since she had lost her mother. Death had to hurt, she shouldn’t cheat her mother’s memory out of the pain it deserved.

“When did you come back?” she heard herself ask, her gaze fixed somewhere above Spike’s right shoulder.

“A few hours ago.”

She nodded. Something was telling her she should inquire about Angel’s soul status, but she couldn’t make herself care. Spike would certainly have mentioned it if there had been a problem.

“Buffy…”

He breathed her name and she instinctively looked at him, for the first time witnessing the pain etched on his features.

“Is there anything I can do?” he asked quietly, and somehow his seriousness felt very strange. She almost would have expected the same words pronounced with a leer or a waggling eyebrow. She shook her head, and again it seemed that someone else was talking even if it was her voice she heard.

“Thanks, but we’re OK. Giles said he would spend the night here, so you can go home.”

She noticed the blink, the frown, the tightening of his jaw, but couldn’t understand what had caused them.

“Right then,” he said coolly. “I’ll be there when you’re ready. Not gonna crowd you in the meantime.”

She managed to give him a smile of thanks before announcing that she was going to bed. She then retreated upstairs and got ready for sleep. For hours, she lay in bed, eyes open and staring in the dark, tears trickling on her face as the pain she had tried to contain all day took over and washed everything into numbness. Too late, she realized that she wasn’t the only one hurting. Too late, she recognized the look on Spike’s face as they had exchanged a few words as the same grief she was feeling. Immediately, she tiptoed downstairs, ready now to accept his comfort if it meant she could do the same for him. He was gone however, and she only found a sleeping Giles, curled in an armchair. She thought about going to his crypt, but eventually rejected the idea. She had to be there for Dawn. There would always be time to mourn with Spike later.

*****

_It’s been a long time, and I never understood until now why she didn’t accept my comfort, that night. It’s good to know at last. Good to know also that she would have come to me if she had been able to. It softens the memory, somewhat. Because it would be futile to deny it, I was hurt when she drew away from me and closed herself off. I wondered, for a while, if she was finally upset about the whole Drusilla thing. Then I realized how insignificant Dru or me had to be for Buffy right then compared to the loss of Joyce._

_I had a drink with the Watcher, and we toasted in silence to the late lady of the house. I had the urge to tell him, tell someone, anyone what I had never told Joyce about how I had lost my soul, but I drowned the words in cheap bourbon. One glass each, no more than that, and the bottle remained on the table, neither of us reaching for it, neither of us speaking a word. I remember wishing that he would say something, tell me about how he had first met Joyce, maybe, or anything, really. I felt like talking about her, but I didn’t know where to start myself. He never said the first word. This cursed reserve of us bloody Englishmen._

_I felt numb as I went back to my crypt. How often have I said it… too often for me not to say it once more, I suppose. She reminded me of my mum. Buffy and Dawn aren’t the only ones who lost a mother that day. I did too. I mourned too. But I… I had already gone through it. The second time was different, but not any easier._


	19. Hiding Behind Words

The small, golden cross gleamed against Buffy’s skin, and Spike couldn’t take his eyes off it. He kept staring at it, unable to understand what it meant. _Afraid_ to understand.

It had been four days since Joyce’s passing. Four days since Buffy had started avoiding him. He kept trying to tell himself that he was imagining things, that she was only too busy, too sad, too anything to turn to him and just let him be there for her. But then, his eyes would fall back on that small, golden cross again, and he would wonder. Was it a sign that she was clinging to vestiges of a religious background she had once admitted meant very little to her? Or a warning for Spike not to come any closer?

He noticed it as soon as he saw her. He had made an early patrol, as he had done each night for the past few days, before coming to Revello. It was Dawn who had opened the door, stared at him, then turned her back on him as he was about to step closer and hug her, throwing over her shoulder a bitter, “Buffy’s in the dining room.”

As it turned out, Buffy had not been alone in the dining room, as Spike had hoped. She rarely ever seemed to be alone these days. Her Watcher was by her side and they were going over some papers. Willow and Harris sat at the table too, having dinner and urging Dawn to eat. Buffy looked at him when he entered the room and gave him a small nod as he approached; but before he could reach her, her attention returned to whatever she had been writing. And his eyes were drawn to the glint of gold at her neck.

If she had been warmer to him, he wouldn’t have given the cross a second thought. But after seeing how she had retreated from him since his return from Los Angeles, and how she was practically ignoring him now, he could do nothing but worry. What had he done? What hadn’t he done? What should he do now to make things better?

Dawn left the table and went to bed, and Buffy barely noticed. Xander rose from his seat and announced that he needed to get home and would accompany Willow back to her dorm; and again, Buffy was practically oblivious. It wasn’t just with him that she was distant, Spike realized, and somehow that thought reassured him. But when he asked her whether he should leave too – hoping, of course, that she’d ask him to stay – she nodded distractedly and told him she’d see him the next night. Spike’s hands fisted in his pockets, and he followed after the two humans, banging the front door shut behind him.

“Hey, just because I can repair it doesn’t mean you should break it.”

The attempt at humor was lame, even by Xander’s standards, and Spike just glared at him as he lit a cigarette.

“Someone’s in a bad mood,” Willow commented.

“You think?” he spat. “Now why would I be? Because she’s so closed off I can barely talk to her, maybe? She doesn’t give a damn whether I’m there or not!”

“Yeah, well, excuse the girl who just lost her mom for not being in a cuddly mood,” Xander defended Buffy. “Can’t you think with your brain, for once, rather than other organs that I am definitely not going to mention?”

“It’s got nothing to do with that!” Spike grunted, exasperated. “Joyce... The lady was the first of you lot to accept me back when I was souled. The first to treat me decently. I know what Buffy’s going through, and I could help if she would just bloody well let me!”

Xander looked away at the same time as Willow reached out to Spike and rested her hand on his trembling arm. He took a deep breath and tried to calm down.

“Give her time,” she murmured. “Tomorrow is the funeral, and after that things will settle down. Just give her time.”

Spike wasn’t convinced; but there wasn’t much he could do about any of it.

*****

The first shovel of dirt fell on the coffin, and Buffy flinched. She watched but did not see as, little by little, the wood disappeared from sight. Dawn was trembling against her – or was she crying? Somehow, Buffy didn’t want to know which it was. She wouldn’t have known what to do in either case, and so she simply remained immobile. Immobile and empty, too cold inside to feel anything.

One by one, the strangers, the people she vaguely knew, and then her friends and sister all left, and she remained alone, standing by the fresh grave. She had seen many of these during her years of patrol. But this one, of course, was different.

The sun was shining on her, but she could barely feel its warmth. And in exactly the same way, she knew Spike was close, she could feel that a vampire was nearby and simply _knew_ it had to be him, but his presence brought her no comfort. Or rather, she was unable to let him comfort her. Unable to rely on him again. She had done that too much in the past months, she realized it now. She had to go through this by herself. If only to prove that she could.

Time passed, but she didn’t feel the hours go any more than she felt anything else. And when the sun set at last, quiet steps behind her warned her that someone was approaching, a vampire her Slayer sense told her. Except that, when she looked at him as he stopped next to her, it wasn’t the one she expected. Yet, she didn’t feel any surprise at discovering Angel by her side.

“I’m sorry,” he offered, like so many others before him, and she nodded grimly.

“I’d never thought you’d come,” she said after a few seconds of silence that weighted heavily on her.

“Why? Because we’re not together anymore? I still care about you, Buffy. I always will.”

Her throat tightened, though she couldn’t have explained why.

“I know,” she conceded. “It’s just…”

And then she realized something. Spike had gone to LA, half convinced that Angel might have lost his soul; she had never asked him how things had gone. There had been too much going on for her to remember why he had left, or even to care.

“You still have your soul, right?” she asked, feeling a little stupid even as she heard the words leave her mouth. “I mean, of course you do, you wouldn’t be here if you didn’t.”

A strange, sad smile curled his lips, and he tilted his head to one side.

“Let’s walk,” he suggested. “It’s hardly the place to discuss my soul.”

She glanced at the grave before following him, and could almost feel its physical presence behind her as she walked away.

“Yes, I still have it,” he reassured her after a few steps, bringing her back to the conversation. “I’d have thought Spike would have told you.”

She bit the inside of her cheek so hard she tasted blood on her tongue. “I haven’t… Spike and I haven’t talked much since mom…”

She couldn’t say the word. She just couldn’t.

“I understand.”

She snorted softly. “No, I don’t think you do.”

“Then tell me?”

She shook her head, ready to explain that he was hardly the person she ought to have discussed this with. And then it dawned on her that, maybe, he was just that. He knew her as much as Spike did, or so she believed, and he knew Spike just as well. Maybe he would understand. Maybe he would even understand better than she did.

“There was a time,” she began, speaking softly, slowly, “when I could have taken anything coming at me by myself. I was strong, inside as well as out. I didn’t need anyone. But since I’ve been with Spike… I’ve come to rely so much on him; it scares me. He’s always there for me, and I expect him to be. I expect it so much that when he’s not there it feels just… wrong. So wrong I don’t even realize what’s wrong, because I’m not used to it happening. And that’s too much. I shouldn’t depend on anyone like that.”

Eyes glued to the ground in front of her feet, she waited for Angel’s support. He had to understand. He was a fighter, like her, he knew about the dangers of relying too much on anyone. But the words of support never came.

“I think you’re wrong, Buffy,” he said with a quiet determination to his words. “You’ve never been truly alone. You’ve always had people supporting you. Giles, your friends, me, your mother…”

He paused for a second, at the same time as Buffy squeezed her eyes shut tight. What was she going to do now that her mother was gone?

“Spike is just the latest,” he continued. “And frankly, you could have found much worse. If you let him, he’ll give you his strength when you need it, but that doesn’t make _your_ strength any less. It doesn’t make _you_ any less.”

She didn’t know how to reply to that. She didn’t even know what to think about it. And so, for long minutes, she was quiet as she kept walking by his side amidst the graves. It felt familiar, in a way, and reminded her of long gone times when she had loved him as more than a friend. But along with the memories came the realization that, for one thing, she wouldn’t have traded what she had with Spike for anything in the world, and also, Angel was right. She had always relied on others, to various degrees. She just trusted Spike enough to have accepted more of his support until now.

“It’s funny,” she finally commented. “Last time you were in town, you tried to convince me that dating Spike was a bad idea. And now…”

“I still think it’s a bad idea,” he cut in, completely serious. “But recently, I’ve come to understand that sometimes you just have to accept the help offered to you before you burn yourself out. And that’s the last thing I’d want to see happen to you.”

*****

Spike arrived at the graveyard in the very early morning. The tombstones seemed to almost gleam under the cold light of the moon, a little like Buffy’s cross a few hours earlier. It was a sight he had seen a thousand or a million times, and yet it wasn’t like any other night. He found the place where the service would happen the following afternoon, then looked around for a suitable hideout. A small crypt with a northern exposure a little distance away and with some trees partially blocking the view was the best he could find. All he needed to do then was to wait until it was time.

Sitting on the marble floor just past the entrance, he slowly smoked his way through a pack of cigarettes as he watched the world outside come to life under the sun. The cemetery felt different than it did at night, perhaps because there were no vampires or demons lurking about, except for him, of course. The place was silent save for a few birds chirping, but the silence reflected calm and peace, whereas at night it crawled with fear and violence.

By midmorning, a couple of men who were probably employed by the funeral home started preparing the site, and what Spike had been trying very hard not to think of was suddenly shoved right into his face. It would only be a few hours before Joyce was buried. These hours trickled by, one painful grain of sand after the other, leaving Spike too much time to reflect on how terribly mortal Buffy, Dawn, and the rest of the gang were. He had never been attached to any human like this before, not since becoming a vampire; the idea that this was only the first of possibly many funerals he would attend was almost enough to send him running to the oblivion offered by a few good bottles – or even, running out of town. Angel’s words came back to the front of his mind; Buffy would die, sooner or later. What would he do, then?

The time finally came, and dark silhouettes gathered around the grave and its coffin. Putting out his cigarette against the floor, Spike got to his feet, pulled the door open a little wider, and stood in the doorway. He could see Buffy and Dawn, side by side, and behind them what remained of their family. He could hear, also, the words of the priest as they drifted on the wind toward him. They held no meaning to him, but he forced himself to listen, and somehow it made him feel closer to the ones he could not join in the sun.

The ceremony finished, he watched as, one by one, the humans left, until finally Buffy remained standing alone by the fresh grave. He wondered if she knew he was there, wondered whether he ought to call out for her, whether she would welcome his presence when he finally could join her. He wondered, and remained where he was, still and silent.

At long last, the sun was low enough on the horizon that Spike could step out of the crypt and start toward Buffy; she still hadn’t moved, and he was getting worried about her. Because of his worry, perhaps, or because of his grief, he didn’t notice Angel’s presence until his grandsire said his name. Taken by surprise, Spike tensed and turned toward the thick group of trees Angel was stepping out of.

“Who told you?” were the first words out of his mouth, and he didn’t realize the question mattered so much until he had asked it.

“Does it matter?” Angel asked back, but confronted by Spike’s blank look he added after only a second: “Not her.”

Relaxing ever so slightly, Spike tilted his head to one side and observed Angel critically. “Why are you here?” he questioned harshly. “Days ago you said you were done with this _game_.”

“I know. But a few days can make a lot of difference.”

Spike merely stared at him, prompting Angel to explain himself further. “I just realized that even if I don’t win the game, it’s still worth playing. For those who care about me.”

Frowning, Spike wasn’t sure what to make of Angel’s words. What had happened since they had last talked to change his mind so?

“Do you mind if I go talk to her? Just for a minute?”

One more thing to be confused about. Angel asking permission of Spike, of all people, about anything? It was so incredible that Spike found himself nodding, albeit reluctantly. And after all, this wasn’t about Buffy, Spike, or Angel. It was about Joyce, and Spike respected that; which didn’t mean he didn’t remain suspicious.

“Just a minute,” he repeated. “And I’m right here so don’t even think about doing anything stupid.”

Buffy didn’t seem particularly surprised when Angel approached her, and Spike tried his best not to grind his teeth. Without getting any closer, he watched them, listened to them, and followed them when they started walking through the cemetery. The minute he had granted Angel had long passed, and he should have known better than to spy on them – he should have known better, also, than to let them be so cozy together. Yet, he did both. He let them talk, listened to them, and understood, piece by piece, what had been going on in Buffy’s mind that she hadn’t been able to explain. It stung that she was opening herself to someone else, and even worse, to Angel, but at least now Spike knew.

Not one second too soon, Angel finally gave his goodbyes. Before Spike had even taken two strides toward Buffy, her voice rose in the night, quiet and strong all at once.

“Are you going to show yourself, now?”

It took Spike a second of confusion to realize she was talking to him.

“Only if you want me to,” he replied, and she turned toward him, the ghost of a smile flirting on her lips. “You knew I was there,” he stated the obvious as he came to her; she slipped into his embrace easily, forehead pressed to his neck and voice muffled against the lapel of his duster.

“Aren’t you always?”

And in an instant of perfect, luminous clarity, Spike understood that Buffy hadn’t spent the last hour and half talking to Angel. She had been talking to him.

*****

_We spent the rest of the night together. Walking, hand in hand. Slaying an occasional vamp without any of our usual games. Talking about innocuous things, like the color of a rose left on a grave or the brightness of the stars above us. We ended up back at Revello, and I resigned myself to the fact that she would surely send me away. But she didn’t._

_“Dawn is spending the night at Wills’ and Tara’s,” she said as we reached the front door._

_I didn’t know what she expected me to say so I kept my answer short. “OK.”_

_She unlocked the door and then looked back at me. “I don’t… I can’t…”_

_The words seemed too hard to say, so I tried to make things easier for her._

_“I understand, luv. I’ll just… go. See you when you’re ready.”_

_What I meant was, I’d just stand under her window as long as I could and wish I were up there with her._

_“No, that’s not it,” she said with a slight shake of her head. “I can’t be alone in there. I don’t… I don’t want to be. Will you please stay with me?”_

_My throat was tight at the idea she thought it necessary to say ‘please’. Of course I would stay with her. Didn’t she know yet that I was ready to do just about anything for her? Or was the problem that she was all too aware of it?_

_We went up to her room, and she excused herself to take a shower. I debated joining her, but I wasn’t too sure how she would have welcomed me, so I didn’t. I went to clean up after she was done, leaving her to get in bed while I tried to cool down. Hell, I knew sex had to be the last thing on her mind, and it should have been the last on mine too, I suppose, but I just couldn’t help it. Being with her, being in her room, being on the point of sleeping in her bed had my body on edge and ready for a round or ten. I took care of my little problem under the spray of scalding water, but it didn’t help for very long. As soon as I was back in her room, the little problem was back in full force, and I was pondering whether to get back into my jeans or find sweatpants when she pulled the sheet open for me, inviting me to lay down as I was – minus the towel, I suppose. Who was I to refuse a lady, huh?_

_She had removed the cross from her neck._

_I let her set the pace. She curled right against my side, and the flannel of her nightshirt, so soft, felt like sandpaper against my skin. We simply cuddled for a while. Yes, I’m a cuddling vampire. Go ahead, laugh._

_Later on, we reached for each other, and made love. But it felt like more than a simple physical act. It was an affirmation of life – which is kind of ironic, when you think about it, seeing how I appear to lack a pulse._

_Morning came, and even though I woke, I stayed right where I was. She had said she didn’t want to be alone, and until she said otherwise I would abide by her wish._

_She was up before me, and I found her in the kitchen, sitting at the island, a cup of coffee in her hands and burnt pancakes in the trash. I was a little disappointed – to say the least – when she tensed up as I hugged her. She then told me she needed to run some errands, and left the house faster than I could ask whether I ought to leave. My hopes that she was ready to accept whatever support I could give her had been short lived. She admitted, later, that she ran away that morning because she felt guilty about having had sex when her mum had just been buried._

_I decided to stay, telling myself that she would have expressly told me if she had wanted me to leave. Bored doesn’t even begin to describe how I felt that day. That and uncomfortable. Everywhere I looked, there were pictures of Joyce. It made me acutely aware that I didn’t have a single memento left of my human years. Of my mother. And once I started down that path…_

_No, I didn’t brood. I never brood. That’s for the likes of Angel, not me._

_But anyway._

_The Bit came home late, and she ran up the stairs so fast she didn’t see me in the living room. I went up the steps, just to say hi, let her know I was there. She was sitting on the floor when I pushed her door open. There was an open magic book by her side, a jar full of what looked like earth in front of her, and a deer caught in the headlights look on her face. Didn’t take me long to put two and two together._

_“I hope it’s just dirt you have there.”_

_Her eyes widened a little more._

_“If the spell calls for anything more than that, you're into zombie territory, and that's bad news.”_

_The word ‘zombie’ seemed to send a jolt through her, and she shivered._

_“Spike, I…I wasn't…”_

_“I know good and well what you're up to. That book you've got is infamous.”_

_I had had my hands on a copy of it, a few decades back. A bit of fun reading that I had stealthily removed from Dru’s possession. I never did anything with it, simply because I only use magic if I have no other solution, but I remembered what kind of things were in it well enough._

_“Please…” she stammered, “don't tell Buffy. I just ... I have to get her back. I have to.”_

_I knew what she meant. I understood all too well. And after spending several hours reminiscing… It still surprises me that I talked to her about that, even if I never actually said I was really talking about. And no, I’m not…_

_No._

_I know I told Dawn. Didn’t I just say that? But just because I told her doesn’t mean…_

_No._

_Fuck. You._

_I told her about my mother. There. I said it. Happy? I told her that I knew someone whose mother had been such an important part of his life, that when he was turned, he decided to make her immortal, like him. And that the dream of eternal maternal love had turned into a nightmare come straight from hell, because it wasn’t her he had brought back, just like it wouldn’t have been Joyce if Dawn had gone through with her spell. I told her…I told her some memories are too precious to be messed with. And she understood what I was saying, probably even more than I wished she had; but I guess it was worth it._

_It stopped her from doing that damn spell, but it didn’t solve everything right away. There was an interesting breakdown and teary session between her and Buffy when the Slayer came back, and I left them for some much needed sisterly bonding. There was also the question of the spell book. I took it back to the store, yelled a bit at Giles who was flustered that the Bit had lifted something right under his nose. I got also more than suspicious at the Witch; she and Tara were there, and Willow had guilt written all over her face. I ranted a bit at her, too, while I was at it, and the simple fact that she didn’t protest told me I was right. I calmed down, eventually. Shared a drink with the Watcher when everyone else had left. Finally told him about the bot, and while he was rather dubious about all of it at first, he eventually admitted it wasn’t such a bad idea, provided that the bot would be able to fight well enough._

_As it turned out, fighting wasn’t much of a problem. Neither was its physical resemblance to Buffy. Warren knew what he was doing, and he had done a superb job. No, the problem definitely wasn’t that the bot wasn’t good enough._

_Rather, the problem was that the damn machine was intent on jumping my bones at every bloody occasion._


	20. It

The evening had been nice, as nice as things got these days, but now Buffy could feel that Giles’ inquisitive mood wasn’t going to fade. She drew him into the living room, where they would be able to sit down to talk.

“What I meant,” she answered his question quietly while keeping an eye on the stairway for Dawn in case she came back down, “is that I need to figure some things out. And until I do, I’d rather not start patrolling with Spike again.”

She could see Giles’s question before he even voiced it; and she answered it right away or at least tried to. However, it wasn’t easy seeing how it was one of the things she wanted to figure out. “We’re OK. As a couple, I mean. At least, I think. It’s just… the slaying stuff is getting in the way.”

Giles frowned and, predictably, took off his glasses for a bit of fine polishing.

“The slaying stuff is getting in the way?” he repeated, sounding perplexed. “I don’t mean to pry into your relationship, Buffy, but… He’s been patrolling for you since…”

“Yes he has,” she cut in quickly, unable to hear Giles refer to her mother’s passing. “And that’s part of what I need to figure out. I know he’s here, I know he’ll take patrol as long as I let him, and… it’s easy to do that and not worry about vampires a little longer. But at the same time, slaying is my job. My calling. And I shouldn’t rely so much on him.”

Buffy’s eyes had dropped to Giles’ hands, and she watched absently as his fingers slowed down and finally stopped rubbing at the lenses.

“He helps you, yes, but so do your friends, and so do I. It never seemed to bother you.”

“It’s different,” she sighed. “Because he’s a vampire and…”

She shook her head, unwilling to continue and let Giles know how she had allowed a vampire to walk free because Spike had asked it of her. How she had started doubting her own decisions, her own strength; because so often, they meshed with Spike’s, and she couldn’t see where she ended and he started. She wasn’t sure anymore that she could truly be the Slayer if she let him have that much of an influence on her. She loved him, more than words could say; she still reveled in his presence when he came to see her after patrol and stayed, sometimes for an hour, sometimes for the night. But despite Angel’s word of advice about accepting all the help she was offered, despite all the thoughts she had given it since the funeral, she still couldn’t shake the feeling that, as the Slayer, she ought to stand and fight alone.

“I’ve been training so hard this year to be a better Slayer,” she murmured. “So why do I lean so much on him? Doesn’t it negate what I was trying to do?”

She looked up to meet Giles’ eyes, and sincerely hoped he would have an answer for her. What he had, instead, was an offer.

“If what you need is to discern what makes you the Slayer… I might have something for you.”

She gave him a quick nod as she sat up straighter, and he continued. “While doing some extra reading for your training, I found references to something… a quest of sorts.”

“A quest? Like finding a grail or something?”

”Not a grail. Maybe answers. It would take a day, perhaps two.”

She stood and shook her head. “I'm not leaving Dawn. Not with Glory looking for her.”

Dawn chose that moment to enter the room, and insisted on knowing what they were talking about.

“Just ask Spike to stay here while you’re gone,” she suggested when she knew. “I’m sure he wouldn’t mind.”

Buffy winced at the idea of asking Spike for yet more help. Giles seemed to understand as he quickly jumped in.

“Spike is busy with patrols,” he pointed out. “Maybe Willow and Tara? Or Xander and Anya?”

And with a few more words and a phone call, it was decided. Buffy would go the next day with Giles on a spiritual quest, and hopefully manage to find the answers she needed. It seemed simple when she explained it to Willow over the phone, but it was considerably less easy to tell Spike about it when he came by later that night.

“A quest? A quest for what?”

She was sitting cross-legged on her bed, looking at him where he leaned against the windowsill. With the only source of light coming from outside, she could see the outline of his face, but little more.

“For myself, mostly,” she said with a self-deprecating smile. “Or at least, the Slayer in me.”

Somehow, she had been sure he would protest her leaving or would have asked to come along. Instead, he remained quiet for a moment, before finally nodding.

“I’ll miss you,” he said. “But if it helps…”

He stepped closer to the bed and leaned down for a kiss, barely brushing his lips to hers. She drew back first and he sighed as he straightened again.

“Wish I could help, luv,” he sighed, and she could hear the intense frustration in his voice.

“I know.”

He left soon after, wishing her well on her trip, and she could only wonder what else he wasn’t saying. Wonder, also, whether the next time she would see him things would be any different.

*****

Even though he struggled to keep his composure, Spike was shocked. Warren had done a magnificent job of reproducing Buffy’s features; all that was missing was a heartbeat and a scent and the robot would have been able to fool even him. At least, its appearance could have. He still needed to see whether her movements could pass for human, and more importantly, whether she could fight decently.

“It looks good,” he conceded. “But what about the rest? Talking, walking, fighting?”

Warren looked nervous as he stuffed books into a backpack, and Spike couldn’t help but wonder whether it was because of a problem with the robot or because he was afraid of his vampire customer.

“She can do all that,” he said quickly. “I had to improvise on some stuff, like adding to her memory bank so she’d know who her friends are and how to react in all sorts of situations. You were rather vague on…”

Spike frowned at him, and Warren’s eyes widened. “Not that I mean you didn’t give me enough information to work with,” he added, almost tripping over his own tongue. “Just that I made good use of the memory possibilities. So you’d be satisfied.”

The human gulped and Spike returned his attention to the robot, about to comment that he wasn’t sure yet whether he was satisfied or not. But at that moment, the robot’s eyes opened and it smiled, a huge, delighted smile, the same kind of smile Spike hadn’t seen on Buffy’s lips in far too long.

“Spike!”

The voice sounded alright, if a tad too cheerful, Spike mentally noted. Before he could make any other observation though, the robot had crossed the few steps that separated them, grabbed his shoulders and pressed its lips to his. Too startled to move, Spike remained immobile until the robot had let go of him. Then he blinked, twice, and turned a murderous glare to Warren.

“What the bloody hell was that?”

“There… there are several kissing programs if… if you don’t like that one,” Warren stuttered. “Just tell her to try another…”

“Kissing programs?” Spike repeated, incredulous. “Who the hell asked you for kissing programs?! I asked you to make a Slayer robot!”

Spike was two seconds away from vamping out, and Warren looked like he was about to get sick.

“You said to make her like Buffy,” he pleaded. “And I did just that. She’s the best girlfriend you…”

“A Slayer!” Spike cut in, exasperated. “I asked you for a Slayer, not a bloody girlfriend!”

Through the broken explanation that followed, Spike understood that Warren, in good faith, had believed that Spike wanted a sex-bot and had programmed the machine as such. However, he promised, Spike simply had to instruct the robot not to act in a certain way and the girlfriend programs would be overruled. Spike was rather dubious as he eyed the still smiling machine, but if it could truly fight, it was worth a try. And undoubtedly, it was a good thing Buffy would be out of town while he made it clear to the machine that kissing - and anything more - was out of the question. This certainly would have been easier to do if she – _it_ – hadn’t kissed so nicely and made Spike wonder what else it could do exactly.

*****

After a day spent in his crypt trying to teach the robot proper etiquette where he was concerned, Spike was almost ready to call it quits. Despite his repeated attempts at forbidding what would have been delightful flirting from the real Buffy but felt an awful lot like cheating from this mechanical version of her, he was seriously beginning to doubt this particular plan of his would work. He had sparred with the robot, and as Warren had promised it could fight, but the chattering and touching were driving him crazy. He had even tried to order the thing to remain in the upper level while he caught some sleep in the lower part of the crypt, but after an hour or so he had been awoken by a very much nude and eerily familiar body pressed to his own.

He had been tempted, God only knew how much, especially after not being able to do more than hold Buffy for the past dozen nights, when she accepted his touch at all. But he wasn’t that desperate yet as to pretend a robot was the real thing. He had ordered her out of his bed, and had tried not to watch as, pouting a little, she had put her clothes back on. She wasn’t _exactly_ like Buffy, but he doubted anyone other than him and Buffy herself would have been able to notice.

Now that the sun had set, he was intent on finding out if the robot could pass for the Slayer; he almost wished it couldn’t, so that he could put this idea behind him and forget about it before Buffy even found out.

“Come on, let’s go patrol.”

With a huge smile on its face and a bounce to its step, the bot followed Spike out of the crypt.

“It is so good of you to help me slay,” it chirped. “You are such a good boyfriend!”

Barely suppressing a growl, Spike stopped dead in his tracks and pointed a threatening finger at the blonde menace.

“Listen, for the hundredth time, I. Am. Not. Your. Boyfriend!”

The smile didn’t fade and the robot nodded. “Of course. You’re more than that. You’re my partner and…”

Refusing to hear any more, Spike pivoted on his heels, rolling his eyes. And came face to face with Anya and Xander. The two of them looked rather bemused.

“Is there a problem?” Xander asked cautiously, his eyes going from Spike to the bot and back.

Spike had to think fast. If he told these two, there was no way he would be able to keep the existence of the robot from Buffy if he decided it wasn’t working, which seemed more and more likely.

“No problem,” he said with his best grin. “Is there, luv?”

If possible, the robot’s smile widened as Spike looked back and it approached to thread its arm with Spike’s. It rubbed against his side, and Spike couldn’t help himself, he had to break the contact.

“There is no problem,” the robot said nonetheless, making googly eyes at him. “Everything is perfectly perfect since you are here.”

Biting the inside of his own cheek so he wouldn’t groan, Spike considered the couple across from him. Could they be oblivious enough to believe that this extra smiling and cheerful Buffy was the real deal? Apparently, they were.

“You’re back already?” Xander asked the would-be-Buffy, frowning slightly. “How was the whole vision-quest experience?”

The robot looked straight at Xander and after a second, answered: “I don’t understand that question. But thank you for asking.”

Spike winced at her reply, and rushed to find an explanation to her words. “She’s still… you know… out there.”

Thankfully, three vampires chose that instant to show up, preventing Spike from having to be any more convincing. He took care of one, leaving one to the bot and the last to the two humans. He kept an eye on the others as he fought, and his distraction preventing him from dusting his adversary as quickly as he ought to have done. Similarly, the robot was apparently watching him, and it ran to his aid when Spike failed to finish his fight right away, staking the vampire before fussing over him.

“Are you alright? I like watching you fight, you’re so manly and strong, but I was getting worried.”

For a second – not even that, half a second – Spike forgot that the concern in the lovely eyes looking at him wasn’t as fake as the bot itself. Buffy looked at him like this, sometimes. Or at least, she used to. Would she ever again?

“’M fine,” he said gruffly, and pulled away from the gentle petting the robot was doing.

Sending Xander and Anya home wasn’t too hard, even though Xander looked as if he weren’t as oblivious as Spike had hoped. Leading the bot back to the crypt wasn’t complicated either; it obviously believed that _something_ would happen there. But to explain to the machine that if it didn’t stop acting as though they were in a relationship Spike would pull the plug was something else altogether.

Strangely enough, Spike couldn’t help the unpleasant feeling that by doing that, he was breaking up with Buffy.

*****

The view outside the window started becoming familiar, and Buffy stirred in her seat, stretching sore muscles. Back in Sunnydale – even if the town sign seemed to be broken again – after a night spent in the desert. Straight back to Go, without the end of turn bonus or sudden enlightenment.

She had met her guide, just as Giles had said she would, a guide who had taken the form of the First Slayer she had met in her dreams almost a year earlier. And it had taken not only her appearance, but also her oh so frustrating way of speaking. A year before, the First Slayer had reproached Buffy for her alliance with mere mortals and, worse, a vampire, and Buffy had refused to hear her. That night, the guide had been much less clear, and Buffy wasn’t even sure her questions had been answered.

She could love, the guide had said. She was full of love. She could even love a demon if that was what she chose. But she had to keep in mind another love, more primordial, more important, that was to be protected beyond everything.

But what love was that? Her sister’s? Her family’s and friends’? The guide had refused to tell, only insisted that she ought not to hide behind the fact that she was the Slayer to refuse to love. Then… then the truly spooky talk had started, with the guide linking together love and pain, and claiming that love would bring Buffy to her gift. A gift that, apparently, was death.

She still had no clue what all that meant. She only knew she didn’t like the sound of it one little bit. Yet, she kept hearing the words, echoing in her mind. Was there a clue, in there, to help her be the best Slayer she could be? To help her defeat Glory, even, perhaps?

“Buffy? We’re there.”

Startled, she looked at Giles, then through the windshield. They were, indeed, parked in her driveway.

“Would you like to come in for a cup of coffee?” she offered. “It’s been a long day and night.”

She hadn’t told him much about her encounter with the guide, requesting time to think about it. But maybe talking to him might help her decipher the riddle. He seemed to sense her mood, because he gave her with that piercing look he sometimes used, the one that appeared to read everything that was on her mind.

“Coffee,” he agreed. “Or tea, if you have some. I’m going to stretch my legs, I’ll join you inside in a minute.”

The empty house Buffy thought she was entering turned out not so empty after all, and she quickly discovered the almost complete gang assembled in the living room. Confusion ensued, and soon she was almost persuaded that she was still in the desert, dreaming senseless dreams.

Then the robot appeared, and everything became luminous.

Spike had had a robot made to look just like her. He had, if Anya’s and Xander’s accounts were to be believed, been patrolling with it, pretending that it was her. He had also, it seemed, been rather abrupt in the way he dealt with it, to the point that, concerned, Xander had gone to talk to him. In other words, he had gotten a toy that looked like her, was unbearably perky, and didn’t mind that he treated it like the cheap piece of plastic and wires it was.

“I am so going to stake him,” she muttered, incensed.

“Oh, but you can’t stake him,” the robot protested cheerfully. “He is my boyfriend. And he looks good naked, too.”

“And I’m going to destroy you before I do anything else,” Buffy added, already taking a step toward the robot. “I can’t believe he tried to replace me with that… that… thing!”

Giles clearing his throat behind her caught her attention. “It wasn’t about replacing you,” he said, sounding a little uneasy. “He thought that this robot might help with patrol, lighten your load. It seemed like an interesting idea…”

Blinking slowly, she stared at him, incredulous. “You knew? You knew and you let him…”

“People!” the robot cut in. “Friends of mine. You’re forgetting the most important thing. Glory has Spike and she’s going to harm him.”

And those simple words answered Buffy’s questions about love, Slayerness and vampire boyfriends more than the guide had. It didn’t matter whether loving Spike was right or wrong, or if he sometimes did things she didn’t approve of. She did love him. Period. The only proof she needed was her heart almost coming to a halt at the idea that he was in Glory’s hands. And she would do anything to get him back.

*****

_Seeing her in that hall, fighting Glory’s minions to save me… I never would have believed I could have loved her any more than I already did; I was wrong._

_Gotta admit I passed out in Giles’ car while they were driving me home – her home. Or maybe I just fell asleep. Yeah, that’s it, I fell asleep. Sounds better._

_I woke up in her bed, lying on a towel, wearing only my jeans. Buffy was at my side, a washcloth in her hand already tinted red with my blood. She half smiled when she saw I was awake._

_“Back to the world of the almost living?”_

_I tried to smile back, but even that hurt. God, but I was trashed. She continued to clean me by gently dabbing at my wounds, her movements so tender that I could barely feel her touching me at all._

_“So tell me,” she said after a few moments. “What is it with people skewering you with sharp, pointy objects? Do you like, dare them or something?”_

_I realized she was trying to lighten up the mood, and I tried to do the same, but my attempt fell flat._

_“Actually, she just shoved her finger in my chest, not…”_

_The look of distress on her face stopped the words in my throat._

_“Hey, kitten, it’s OK, just give me a couple of days and I’ll be as good as new.”_

_There were tears gleaming in her eyes, and I managed to reach up to cup her face._

_“None of that, now.”_

_“She could have killed you.”_

_“But she didn’t.”_

_She sniffled. “Good thing she didn’t ‘cause I swear I’d have dusted you if she had.”_

_I remember trying to hold in the laugh, because if simply talking hurt so much, laughing would have been even worse. She frowned as she looked at me, and then seemed to realize what she had said._

_“You know what I mean,” she said with another of these half smiles._

_Yes, I did._

_I fell asleep lulled by her quiet words and soft gestures. I awoke briefly when she carefully climbed into bed next to me, and pulled her until she was lying right alongside me, where I could feel her. She tried to resist, I guess she didn’t want to hurt me, but I didn’t let go until she was right there where I could feel her. It hurt, yeah, but it was worth it._

_Neither that night nor the following days did she ask me if I had told Glory what she wanted to know, even though I kept expecting the question to pop up. We did talk about the bot. Hell, she ranted about that until I thought my ears would bleed, and it didn’t seem to matter to her that I was as relieved as she was that the thing was broken. I think she still was a bit scared that I had tried to replace her with a not so needy version of herself, and it took me a while to convince her it had never been my goal._

_I asked her, eventually, why she wasn’t asking about what I had told – or not told - Glory. She answered with a small smile, and said that she knew, and she didn’t need to ask._

_See the thing above about not thinking I could love her any more?_

_Yeah. I was wrong again._


	21. Wouldn't you?

Spike wasn’t sure what it was exactly that had returned Buffy to a better disposition where he was concerned. Maybe it had been her soul-searching trip; she had been vague about what had happened, so it was hard to know for certain. It could also have been her fear of losing him; she had made it perfectly clear when playing nurse to him that she had been terrified.

Whatever it was, Spike wasn’t complaining one bit. He had slept in her bed since his rescue from Glory’s clutches, wrapped each night against a deliciously warm and cuddly Slayer. He had been too badly injured for them to exchange more than a few fleeting kisses at first, but after a couple of days, his tentative caresses had been welcomed and returned. They had to take things slow, and be careful not to hurt him any more than he already was, but the change of pace from their usually rougher lovemaking felt to Spike as though they were discovering each other for the first time all over again.

Buffy made a small noise against the pillow, and Spike opened his eyes, raising his head from her shoulder to look at her. A frame of light was growing on the edges of the window’s curtains, announcing morning and allowing him to see her face clearly. She was still asleep, but a small frown creased her brow. Worried, even in her sleep. There was too much resting on her shoulders, too much happening and changing all at once. Maybe if she had one thing that remained the same, one rock to cling to in the tempest, something that was hers only… Spike wished that rock could have been him, but he realized he had contributed to her trouble.

Shifting so that he could reach her neck, he trailed his lips against the scars his bite had left. Had it been only two years ago? It felt like an eternity; so much had happened since.

She stirred against him, a small appreciative murmur passing over her lips as she pulled him closer.

“Morning,” he breathed against her skin.

“Mmmm…”

“Time for good little Slayers to wake up and get ready for school.”

That got her attention and she opened one eye to look at him questioningly.

“School?” she repeated with a yawn. “I’ve missed too much, they probably think I’ve dropped out or something. Which would be the sensible thing to do seeing…”

“Seeing nothing,” he cut in softly, and moved up to rest his cheek on the pillow next to her. “Just tell them you had a family emergency and they’ll let you back in.”

She sighed and turned her face away from him, looking up at the ceiling.

“It’s not that simple,” she said slowly. “I’ve got to be here for Dawn. Like, I have an appointment with her principal this afternoon. If I go back to school…”

“I’m here,” he interrupted her again. “I can help. Get her ready for school. Have her do her homework. Can help with the house and cooking, too.”

She still wasn’t facing him, but he could see the smile tugging at her lips.

“Spike? I’ve seen your crypt and tasted your cooking. No offense, but you’re not exactly the king of housework.”

“Never pretended to be, luv. Just saying… it’s almost the end of the school year; I can help so you can keep up with class. Think about something else for a few hours a day. If you just let me, I will.”

And he knew that was where the problem would be. She still clung to the notion that she ought to do everything by herself, and he was still fighting her to allow him to help. Yet, to his surprise, there was no fight this time.

“OK.”

“OK?” he repeated, bemused that she was accepting so easily.

She turned back toward him. “But just until the end of the semester. Because mom… because my tuition is all paid up anyway. After that I’ll need to think about what to do.”

He shifted toward her for a short kiss. “Sounds good. Just for a few weeks, then. I’ll get out of your hair and house after that.”

She frowned. “That’s not what I said.”

“I know, just thought I’d say it first so you don’t have to worry about how I’ll take it.”

Rolling her eyes at him, she sat up in the bed, unconcerned by her nakedness as she stood and moved about the room.

“Sometimes, I just don’t understand you,” she muttered as she donned her robe. “Here you are, living in my home when a few days ago I wasn’t even sure I could be with you, asking me to let you help and in effect become a part of our little family, yet at the same time, you’re already talking about moving out. You just enjoy confusing me, don’t you?”

Clean clothes in hands, she came back to the bed and gave Spike a kiss before leaving the room to take a shower. Spike remained in bed, eyes wide open and unseeing as he replayed her words in his mind. Had she even realized what she had said?

 _‘I wasn’t even sure I could be with you…’  
_  
Had he been that close to losing her? Had he been that close and not realized it? He had noticed, of course, that something was going on, that she was more distant with him, but he had never imagined it was that bad.

His hands were shaking as he dressed and limped down the steps. She had accepted his help, and he would start by getting some kind of breakfast ready. Maybe if he kept himself occupied, he would stop thinking about her words.

*****

Buffy’s steps were heavy as she walked Dawn home after their short stop at the Magic Box. The talk with the principal hadn’t gone well, and she had warned her about what would happen if Dawn’s attendance and grades did not improve radically. The simple idea that Dawn could be taken away from her and placed in a foster family chilled her to the bones and made her sick. She had to do something. She had to take responsibility and make Dawn get back to her perfect attendance, perfect grades report. As Giles had said, she had to do it by herself, and show Dawn that it was for her own good. Still, she wished he had accepted playing the role of an authority figure to Dawn; after only two minutes, Buffy had already messed up, hurting Willow’s feelings and antagonizing Dawn in the process. God, it wasn’t going to be easy.

If she hadn’t already promised herself she wouldn’t ask anything more from Spike, she might have tried to see if he could get better results than she had. Dawn still practically worshiped him, and… No, she wouldn’t ask. She still wasn’t sure how she felt about accepting his earlier offer of help. At least, she could pretend to herself that it was OK if he stayed with them, because he had been hurt and still needed time to heal. Not only that, but Glory knew where his crypt was, so he was safer at Revello. Of course, the insane goddess also knew where Buffy lived; but she hadn’t come back so far, and Buffy hoped she wouldn’t, at least for a while longer.

And all of her internal ramblings really had no other goal than to push back the moment when Buffy would have to talk to her sister. Breathing in deeply, she took hold of her courage and tried to remain calm.

“Dawn… we have to talk.”

Dawn’s answer was a loud sigh, and for an instant Buffy faltered. Maybe if she took things slow, eased into them…

“You’re not the only one going back to school and having a lot to make up. It’s the same for me. So I know how you feel…”

Dawn snorted. “Keep telling yourself that. You have no idea what it’s like.”

Buffy’s resolution to keep calm vanished like the snow under the sun.

“She was my mom too, I…”

“No. She was your mom, period. She wasn’t mine. It wasn’t real. I’m not real. What’s the point of…”

Dawn seemed to realize at that point that Buffy had stopped walking, and she turned back to look at her, arms crossed over her chest, sullen.

“Don’t say that,” Buffy hissed, shaking. “Don’t _ever_ say that. You were her daughter, and that was the end of it as far as she was concerned. And I am not going to let you do this. You are going back to school. Every. Single. Day. You are going to do your homework and I will check it every night. You are going to study, you are going to get good grades, I will _not_ be called in to talk to the principal again and they will _not_ take you away from me.”

Dawn blinked; her arms dropped. “Take me away?” she repeated, sounding for all the world like a scared little girl, and Buffy realized belatedly that it was exactly what she was.

*****

With all the curtains drawn, Dawn watched as Spike went from one window to the other and peeked out from the edge, checking that no minion of Glory’s was spying on them. Buffy had seen one, earlier, and he had run away before she could catch him. Dawn wished they had left the house. Even hiding in the sewers had to be better than staying where Glory knew they lived. She was sure Spike felt the same way, because he had been very edgy since Buffy had left to go to Tara’s help. And as she watched him limp back and forth, Dawn was reminded of what had hurt him. What was now hunting Tara. What would eventually come for her. A god.

“I’m sorry,” she murmured, so low that no one else would have heard it. He looked back toward her, head tilted to one side in puzzlement.

“Sorry ‘bout what?” he asked. “Playing hooky at school? Tell that to big sis, she’s…”

“No. Sorry that you got hurt because of me.”

He snorted, and the sound seemed to echo in the living room.

“Hurt? It’s just a few bruises. Nothing to write home about. ’Sides it’s not as if you pointed Glory toward me. I did that all by myself.”

Dawn shook her head; she wasn’t stupid, she knew it was more than a few bruises. Buffy wouldn’t have been so upset the first couple of days after Spike had been hurt if it hadn’t been serious.

“She went after you because she thought you were the Key, and she hurt you. Now she’s going after Tara, and she’s going to hurt her too. Who’ll be next? And what will she do when she gets to me in the end?”

“You don’t know that Tara’s gonna be hurt,” Spike objected. “And Glory won’t get to you. We won’t let her.”

Dawn could feel tears rising to her eyes and she bit the inside of her cheek in an attempt to distract herself. Spike noticed however, he always did; he limped closer to the armchair she was sitting in and ran a hand through her hair.

“Hey there, Bit. Don’t be scared.”

If anything, his words brought the tears even closer to the surface.

“You wanna know what I'm scared of, Spike? Me. I'm like a lightning rod for pain and hurt. And everyone around me suffers and dies. I... must be something so horrible... to cause so much pain... and evil.”

Spike’s hand closed on her shoulder and squeezed as he said forcefully: “Rot. I'm a vampire. I know something about evil. You're not evil.”

“But I…”

“Enough now. Remember that little talk you and I had? About how it’s what you choose to be that’s important?”

Swallowing her tears, Dawn nodded.

“There you go, then. You’re not evil. You’re not the cause of anything bad happening to anyone. You’re Dawn Summers, and no one else but you can decide who Dawn Summers is exactly.”

His words were terribly cliché, but Dawn clung to them as if to a safe line.

“And while we’re remembering old discussions…” Spike added after an instant. “Remember that thing about small lies hurting no one?”

Dawn grimaced at that; she could guess all too well where this was going.

“Maybe I was wrong,” he continued when she didn’t answer. “’Cause you’ve been lying to your sister about school, and that definitely didn’t go without damage.”

Sullen, she looked away from him. She had heard that talk three times that day already, once from the principal, twice from Buffy. She didn’t need Spike to play the same tune.

“’M not going to scold you. It’s not my place. But I hate to see the Slayer worry more than she has to. I want your promise that you’ll go to school and do your work.”

“You just said you weren’t going to put your nose in that,” she retorted.

“I don’t want to. But I think you’d respect a promise to me, so…”

The front door opened at that moment, and Buffy’s return saved Dawn from having to give her word. And the grim news she brought about Tara made skipping school the last thing that mattered in Dawn’s life.

*****

_Can’t say that Buffy’s return helped the Bit much. She tried to put on a good face, but Tara was in lalaland, and there really wasn’t much more to say about it. And after the several encounters Dawn had had with crazy folks already… she knew what was going on without needing much detail._

_Then the conversation drifted toward Willow, and that’s when things became a little more complicated. Sometimes, Buffy can be so blind… She actually was convinced that a few words from her had dissuaded Willow from attempting to avenge Tara. I wasn’t buying it, and Dawn was doubtful at best._

_“I told Willow it would be like suicide,” my Slayer insisted, as if words mattered in this kind of situation._

_“I’d do it,” I said, trying to make her see. She did nothing more than stare at me blankly. I reached out to her, cupping her face in my hand. “Right person, person I loved, I’d do it.”_

_Still no reaction. I couldn’t help it, then, I dropped my hand and asked: “Wouldn’t you?”_

_Her gaze shifted from me to Dawn, back and again. Finally, she got it. Her eyes widened, and she jumped up and was running before anyone could say anything._

_I often wondered which of us, Dawn or me, she imagined hurt before finally understanding that Willow wasn’t going to stop just because of a few words. But then, here I was, beaten halfway to my final undeath, and she hadn’t attacked Glory in retaliation. Not that I wish she had, of course. I’m just saying…_

_I don’t even know what I’m saying. It doesn’t matter, does it? In any case, she avenged me good and proper when she beat up Glory a few days later._

_Anyway. Back to that night, with Dawn and I once more waiting for Buffy’s return, once more worrying with each passing second. If I hadn’t hurt so much still, and if I hadn’t had Dawn in my care, I would have gone after Buffy. I itched to go, despite everything. I knew what Glory was capable of from firsthand experience, and I definitely didn’t want Buffy to go through that too.  
_   
_We should have left, that night. After she came back from getting Willow safely down from her power trip, we should have left. Just the three of us. It would have been easy to find a place to hide. I’ve done it so many times in my years, moved from a town that had become inhospitable and found a new place, new feeding grounds… It would have been different with two humans with me, but feasible. And safer than to stay right under Glory’s nose. She knew the key was someone in Buffy’s entourage; it was only a matter of time before she found out who exactly, especially since she had already gone through two of us, and there were only five more to check._

_We should have left, I was convinced of it; yet, I didn’t say a word. Buffy was too wound up when she came back, talking in broken sentences when I prodded her about Willow’s attempt at magically kicking a god’s ass. One more clue that our little witch was on a dangerous path, but none of us stopped to think about it at the time, there was too much going on._

_We did leave soon after that, of course, what with Glory finally figuring out that Dawn was whom she wanted. But by the time I finally suggested it, the Slayer had already made up her mind, and leaving town meant everybody leaving, and no one left behind._

_I know why she did it. I understand it, even. Leaving anyone behind meant leaving them for Glory to find and play with. But taking them along for the ride was a mistake nonetheless, and nothing, never, will make me think otherwise. If we had left just the three of us, there would have been no hurt Giles, no…_

_What? Going too fast again? It’s not as if you’re not going to tell them eventually._


	22. On The Edge

“Let’s go, just the three of us.”

Buffy barely glanced back toward Spike as he spoke; instead, she continued to fill her duffel bag with weapons. Yet that brief look was enough for Spike to notice how frantic she was, how scared, even if she was trying to hold it together for appearances. He was just as upset too, and being just as careful not to show it. What they had dreaded had happened, and Glory now knew who her Key was. How long until she came looking for Dawn? Was she in route right now?

“Spike, don’t…”

“It’ll be easier to travel,” he persisted. “Easier to hide and keep her safe.”

She was done with the weapons and her eyes drifted toward the staircase.

“Dawn!” she called out. “We need to get out of here! Now.”

“Coming!”

Frustrated that she wouldn’t answer him, Spike caught Buffy’s arm; she pulled it away from him, but not before he could notice that she was trembling. The frustration vanished, replaced by an overwhelming need to comfort her.

“Just trust me on this,” he pleaded. “I can keep the three of us safe. She’ll never find us.”

Buffy sighed as she gave a small headshake. “I know you can,” she conceded. “And I’d love to. But we can’t leave the gang behind. The first thing Glory will do when she doesn’t find us is go after them. They have to come along, for their own safety.”

With a single nod, Spike agreed to let go of that battle. It was clear she wasn’t going to change her mind, and antagonizing her when she was so tense wasn’t going to help anything.

“It’ll be alright,” he tried to reassure her. Mindlessly he brought his hand up to the loose strand of hair that had escaped her ponytail and tucked it behind her ear. He wasn’t sure whether he was imagining her leaning into his touch. “Just give me half an hour and meet me at the corner of Pearl and 25th, like we said.”

“Are you sure we can’t help?”

He forced a chuckle out. “I thought we were trying to get Dawn to safety, not in jail for car robbery.”

“Car robbery?” Dawn’s voice chimed in behind them, and when Spike looked at her, her eyes were wide.

“Don’t get too excited, big sis vetoed the Porsche I had an eye on.”

“So what are you going to get?”

He gave her a mysterious smile before grabbing the blanket off the sofa. The truth was, he had no clue yet what kind of transportation he could nick that would accommodate eight people. But he would find it. He had to.

“Half an hour,” he reminded Buffy, and walked out through the back door. In a blink, he was in the sewers and striding through the tunnels toward Sunnydale’s biggest used car dealer lot. Stealing a car in full daylight wasn’t going to be a piece of cake, but compared to what was to come, it would be a cakewalk. He wasn’t afraid of a good fight, even after having experienced first hand what Glory could do. But fleeing town like this, running away with an all too identifiable group and hoping she wouldn’t follow, that made him uneasy.

Still, there was nowhere else he would have rather been than at his Slayer’s side.

*****

With one arm wrapped around Tara, holding her close as the Winnebago shook so hard it felt as if it was about to fall to pieces, Willow was trying to read and find a spell, any kind of spell, to help protect them. She wasn’t having much luck so far.

They had been on the road for hours, but it felt like an eternity. They had paused only once, and even then, it had only been for a few seconds, just long enough for Giles to take Spike’s place behind the wheel. Spike had given a long look to the closed door behind which Buffy had retreated at the beginning of the trip, clearly hesitant about going in, before he had finally settled down on the floor at Dawn’s side.

“We could have made two groups,” he suddenly mused aloud after having been silent for the past half hour or so. “Split up, take different directions, be less noticeable and…”

“Spike, it’s a bit late to reinvent our escape,” Xander cut in; he sounded a bit queasy and Willow threw him a concerned look. “We’re here now and… oh God… isn’t anyone else getting nauseous?”

Spike snickered. “Might be if gramps over there actually tried to reach the speed limit.”

Giles’ subsequent grumbles were all too clear. “I’ve driven tricycles with more power. Couldn’t you have stolen something a bit more efficient for an escape?”

“Could have,” Spike replied, sullen. “And then we’d have done that split groups thing, as I was saying.”

For a little while, they were all silent, and Willow tried to concentrate again on the spells in front of her. If she could only find something to conceal the vehicle, or at least protect it from the outside…

“I wonder what Buffy’s doing,” Dawn voiced unexpectedly the question that had to have been, at one point or another, on everybody’s mind.

“Sleeping.”

Curious gazes turned to Spike at his quiet reply, and he frowned briefly as he noticed them. “Can hear her heartbeat,” he explained gruffly. “She certainly could use the rest.”

No one contradicted him, and once more silence fell around the small table. A few minutes passed, each identical to the last. The rumbling of the motor, the shaking and bouncing, Tara’s soft whimpers… Once more, it was Spike breaking the status quo as he stood and wordlessly went to the back room.

*****

However hard she tried, Buffy couldn’t manage to remember what she had dreamed. She had awoken with a jump a few instants before, with a sense of grim foreboding that she couldn’t shake. Had it been only a nightmare that had awoken her, caused by too much stress and tension? Or had it been something more important, a Slayer dream, maybe, something that could warn her in advance of what was going to happen if she only remembered?

She was still trying to recall the dream using meditation techniques Giles had taught her when the door opened and Spike slid inside. Rather than coming closer, he leaned back against the door, but she could see that he was ready to spring forward at the first invitation.

“How are you?” he asked her, concerned.

She forced a smile to her lips, even if she knew he would see past the subterfuge. “Fine. Had a little nap. Feeling all rested now.”

“Really? ‘S that why your heart’s beating so fast, then, because you’re all rested?”

She dropped the smile and the façade. “It’s nothing,” she insisted. “Just a little nightmare, nothing to be…”

As she should have known he would, Spike stepped closer at her words; she raised a hand toward him, palm out, to stop him before he could pull her into his arms.

“Not now,” she begged in a whisper.

He wove his fingers with those of her outstretched hand. “I just want to help,” he said, his voice tight.

“I know that. And I appreciate it, really. But if I let my guard down now, I’m…” Her fingers tightened against his. “I’m going to collapse.”

“No you’re not. You’re too strong…”

“I _was_ strong. But it never stops, it just keeps coming. Glory, Tara, you getting hurt… mom… I’m so tired of it all. Can’t we just have a little peace?”

She stopped there, because her voice was breaking and tears were threatening to spill from her eyes. She felt oddly vulnerable at her confession, and she tried to decipher what Spike was thinking, but his face was a blank, expressionless mask; it worried her more than any other expression could have.

“What’s wrong?” she defensively asked. “What are you thinking?”

He started to shake his head, but then stopped himself and looked straight at her; pulling on her hand, he made her stand closer to him.

“When’s the last time you were that tired?” he questioned quietly.

She frowned. “When? I don’t know…”

Then she understood what he was hinting at. Her suspicion was confirmed as he insisted: “Think about it, luv. Was it maybe when I… before the Mayor’s ascension?”

He didn’t actually say the words, but she heard him, loud and clear. When he had bitten her. When she had allowed him to bite her. When, from her own admission, she had been closer than ever from having a death wish. She shivered at the thought, realizing that he may be right at the same instant as she refused to even consider the eventuality. The fight hadn’t even truly begun; she wasn’t going to walk into the ring betting against herself. She was about to deny it all when a stray thought stopped her, the guide’s voice echoing in her mind. ‘ _Death is your gift’_ , it said, but she refused to listen.

“I don’t…” she started, but never got to finish. Just behind her, only inches from her, an arrow had pierced the back of the RV. Alarmed, both she and Spike looked through the blinds, and quickly discovered that they were under attack. The moment for soul-searching discussions had passed. It was now time to fight.

*****

Night had fallen on the desert and, aside from Tara’s whimpers and Buffy’s murmur as she talked to Giles, everything was quiet. Quiet, but not tranquil, far from it. Outside, just beyond the barrier Willow had erected, the bloody knights were getting ready to invade the gang’s temporary sanctuary as soon as the magic would fail. Inside, the tension was hiding just under the surface of everybody present. From what their captive, the knights’ general, had said, there would be no respite until the Key was no more. None of them was ready to let that happen.

Leaning against a wall, Spike was fiddling with the bandages Buffy had wrapped around his hands. She had insisted on doing it and had grumbled the whole time under her breath, complaints about him having nothing better to do than catching a sword’s blade with his bare hands mixed with thanks for stopping said blade before it had skewered her. She was now by Giles’s side, but the Watcher needed more than a couple of bandages to get better, Spike only had to inhale deeply and take in the scent of his spilled blood to be reminded of that fact. And apparently, Buffy was aware of it too.

Without warning, she left Giles and strode to the door, shortly requesting from Willow a passage through the barrier. Alarmed, Spike looked around the room and met Xander’s eyes. A quick and silent conversation occurred, in which Buffy’s and Dawn’s names were mentioned, and Xander nodded once before following Buffy out while Spike remained where he was, still playing with his bandages and keeping an eye on the room – and on Dawn.

With the door open, he could listen to what was going on outside, and heard Buffy negotiate safe passage for an eventual medical help. He didn’t understand what she was up to until she came back in and asked Willow if she could help powering the phone booth. He then watched, frowning, as she pulled out folded receipts and scrunched up bits of papers from her wallet and sorted through them before finding the one she wanted and dialing a number. The way she pointedly avoided looking at him should have warned him, but still Spike was mystified when he heard the muffled but recognizable voice on the other end of the line.

Ben. The doctor, or nurse, or whatever the hell he was.

She had called him for help.

She had his number on her and she had called him.

There was something there that Spike just didn’t understand; he could have jumped to easy conclusions, but they didn’t have time for misunderstandings, accusations or jealousy. So, he tried to keep an open mind until she finished her call. And then, he didn’t accuse or demand. He only stared.

“So… you… hmm… probably wonder why I have his number, huh?” she asked, sotto voce, after she had hung up the phone.

Spike didn’t reply, and simply waited.

“I went to this party with the guys while you were in LA,” she started, and winced when she realized what she had said. “It wasn’t like that… I mean, they invited me and I just went along, I was a bit lonely so I thought being with them would help, and I’m babbling.”

She shook her head briefly, and when she started talking again she sounded calmer. “And I have no reason to babble. I went to that party. Ben was there. He saw I was alone and he gave me his number. I was going to throw it away and then Warren’s robot girlfriend made a scene and I forgot about it. And the next time I saw it, I just thought that knowing a doctor might be useful seeing my line of work. And that’s how I had Ben’s number.”

A dozen replies came to Spike’s lips, but half of them were statements of jealousy, and the others, too flippant, would have brought nothing good to the situation. With difficulty, he limited himself to a grunt that she hopefully wouldn’t misinterpret.

“I need a cigarette,” he muttered after an instant, and was more than surprised when she wordlessly helped him with his lighter as his bandaged hands hindered him. Such a small gesture, and yet…

“Love you,” he murmured as she was walking away and to the other room. She looked back, smiled for the first time that day, and mouthed the words back at him.

*****

_She probably saved the Watcher’s life when she dialed that number. Giles was messed up enough that he might not have lasted until we brought him to a hospital – and that was supposing we’d have been able to get past those damn knights without more damage in the first place. She saved his life, but bringing Ben to our hideout messed up everything else. She didn’t know it, of course. None of us did. But Ben hadn’t come alone, and it didn’t take long before Glory showed herself. She got rid of Buffy and me as though we were nothing more than flies to swat away. She grabbed Dawn. She walked through Willow’s magical barrier. She killed the knights down to the last one. And she left us all in shock – and Buffy catatonic._

_Now don’t put words in my mouth. I’m not saying we should have left Giles to die. I’m not saying either that Buffy caused everything that happened afterwards by placing that call. All I’m saying is this. The wheels were set in motion at the instant I stole that RV. Everything else that happened was as close to a natural consequence as makes no difference. There’s nothing that could have stopped the events from happening once we left Sunnydale._

_As a rule, I don’t believe in fate. I just don’t like the idea that someone or something other than me is deciding everything I do. Sometimes though, even I have to admit that it’s hard not to wonder if some things, at least, are not predetermined._

_In any case, predetermined by fate or not, there we were. One vampire and six humans in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by dead bodies. One of these six humans was gravely hurt, another had lost her mind, and a third was completely unresponsive to the world. Getting back to the civilized world was an interesting trip; you can believe me on that._


	23. Not Dead Yet

Painfully, Giles sat up, clutching his hand to the wound in his side. Standing at his side, Anya helped him to remain upright. A few feet away from them, Willow and Xander were staring at a still immobile, still unresponsive Buffy. They had brought her in, almost half an hour earlier, after Glory had disappeared with Dawn, and she hadn’t moved since.

The door of the old station opened and Spike entered, his eyes on his hands as he adjusted the bandages.

“Hotwired Ben's car,” he announced shortly. “Everybody ready to get the hell out of here?”

There was a general murmur of assent, but still nothing from Buffy. Giles wondered what was going on in Spike’s mind as he stood next to Willow. He had shown little reaction to Buffy’s catatonia, leaving her in the care of her friends as he worked on their return to civilization. Now, Giles realized, he looked worried, almost frightened.

“Any change?” he asked quietly.

Xander shook his head. “The same. Still.”

”It's been almost a half an hour,” Willow murmured.

Spike’s fists closed tightly but he remained silent as Willow once more tried to catch Buffy’s attention, calling her name as she knelt in front of her. Nothing happened.

“Let me try,” he said gruffly, and Willow obliged, standing and stepping back.

“Luv?”

The word was almost tender, but the way he shook her shoulders wasn’t, far from it.

“We tried that,” Anya chimed in.

Cupping her face, he pressed his mouth to hers and kissed her in what seemed like a rather abrupt manner. Still Buffy didn’t react.

“We didn’t try _that_ ,” Anya felt necessary to comment, and Giles rolled her eyes at her.

“And is it really appropriate to smooch the unresponsive woman?” Xander asked with no trace of humor in his voice. Spike straightened and turned to glare at him. “You’ve got a better idea, just say so, Harris. Easy to criticize when all you’re doing is standing there.”

Xander took one step forward. “Yeah, well, I’m not the one taking advantage…”

“Enough.”

All eyes turned to Willow; the temperature in the dilapidated station seemed to have dropped below freezing with the ice in her voice.

“Buffy's out. Glory has Dawn. Sometime real soon, she's gonna use Dawn to tear down the barrier between every dimension there is. So if you two wanna fight, do it after the world ends, okay?”

Hands raised in an appeasing gesture, Xander took a few steps back until he stood by Anya and Giles. Spike glared at him for a second before returning his attention to Buffy.

“All right,” Willow said with determination. “First we head back to Sunnydale. Xander will take Giles to a hospital. Anya's looking after Tara. Spike, you find Glory. Check her apartment; see if she's still there. Everyone clear?”

Anya raised her hand hesitantly. “What will you do?” she asked Willow.

”I'll help Buffy.”

“Okay then.”

“No, it’s bloody well not okay.”

Willow turned a cold gaze on Spike as he talked. He returned it without flinching in the slightest.

“Say what you want,” he challenged her, “I’m not leaving her.”

Willow’s determination seemed to falter. “But we need you to find out where Glory’s hiding.”

“Why does it have to be me? You can do it. You’ve certainly got better weapons against her with your magic than I have with my fists.”

“But…”

“I am _not_ leaving Buffy.”

As much as it pained him to admit it, Giles found himself siding with Spike. “I think he has a better shot at bringing her back, Willow.”

She sighed loudly but nodded her agreement. “Fine. We can work out the details in the car. We’d better go, now.”

As carefully as possible, Giles climbed down from the counter, helped on each side by Xander and Anya. Willow went to Tara and, gently taking her arm, led her toward the door. Spike started doing the same with Buffy, although he gave up on guiding her and simply scooped her up in his arms.

“So,” he said as they all came out of the station. “What do we do if we come across Ben?”

The question was strange, and earned Spike a few quizzical glances. His explanation about how Glory and Ben were the same person however left everyone puzzled and nearly incredulous. Until they forgot all about his words only seconds after he had voiced them.

*****

The bedroom was dark and Spike was kneeling on the floor in front of Buffy when Willow walked in; she paused for an instant and watched them. He had taken her hands in his and was rubbing his thumbs against her palms, murmuring softly as he looked up at her. Shaking herself from her torpor, Willow moved around the room, lighting several candles, before coming to stand by Spike.

“I’m… I’m not sure it’s such a good idea,” she said cautiously, and as she had expected, Spike turned a cold stare toward her. “I mean, it’s really advanced magic, and…”

“Did you ever do it before?” he interrupted abruptly.

“No, never,” she conceded. “But I know magic, and I definitely have more practice hours than you do.”

She could see his jaw tighten, but his voice remained calm. “You told me all I need to know, didn’t you?”

“Well, yes, in theory, but…”

“But nothing. I am doing this and that’s the end of this discussion.”

Willow made a grimace at his stubbornness, but already he had turned his face back to Buffy. She sighed.

“Fine. But if something goes wrong, don’t say I didn’t warn you. And you shouldn’t touch her, remember? Not here, not there.”

The scolding tone in her voice brought a quick look back toward her as he let go of Buffy’s hands; she almost could have thought Spike was amused, if he hadn’t seemed so worried. And his worry reawakened hers. She observed Buffy, contemplative.

“I could stay,” she suggested, only half-convinced herself. “Make sure everything’s going fine.”

She could see that Spike wasn’t opposed to the idea, but he still shook his head. “We’ll be OK. And you need to get us a lead on Glory.”

A cold shiver ran down her back, but Willow steeled herself. She had to do this, there was no one else. If she came across bad company, she had a couple of nifty spells ready to help her escape. They needed all the information they could gather.

“I’ll go to her apartment first,” she said aloud, even though Spike already knew what her plan was, just to give herself courage. “And then try that demon you mentioned.”

Once again, Spike looked at her, and this time his eyes seemed to appraise her. “Get Harris to go with you for that one,” he suggested. “The neighborhood’s not that friendly, you might need backup.”

She swallowed heavily as she nodded, and wished once more that she hadn’t agreed to teach Spike the mind-wandering trick. He should have been the one going on the reconnaissance mission; she was more suited for the mind type of things. At the same time though, she understood why he so much wanted, needed, to be the one helping Buffy. She felt the same about Tara.

“Good luck,” she murmured, and stepped out of the room, looking back one last time at the couple before she closed the door on them.

*****

_One thing Spike had definitely not expected to discover as he slipped into Buffy’s mind was to stumble upon her child self. Startled, he observed the blonde little girl, unable to repress a smile at the piggy tails and pouty lips._

_“Hey, kitten,” he murmured when she noticed him. She seemed a little uncertain at first, but soon she returned his smile._

_“Hi, Spike.”_

_Without a second thought, he approached and straddled the child-sized chair across from her. She watched him intently as he did so, but did not appear frightened in any way at his presence. Just curious._

_“Why are you here?” she asked without ever ceasing to brush her doll’s hair._

_“Looking for you, luv.”_

_Her smile brightened just a bit. “And you found me.”_

_“That I did. Want to tell me what you’re doing here?”_

_She gave a small shrug and her eyes dropped to the doll._

_“I like it here,” she replied simply, and before Spike could question her further, she asked: “Do you like dolls?”_

_A humorless smile curled Spike’s lips again. “Can’t say that I do, but I’ve been known to fix a dolly’s hair every now and then, back in the days. Remember Dru? She was quite fond of dolls.”_

_His deliberate mention of Drusilla seemed, for a second, to work, and the hint of something dark – could it possibly be jealousy? – passed through the child’s eyes. She didn’t comment however, and instead handed the doll to him._

_“Can you…” she started, but the opening door and a voice calling her name interrupted her. Excited, she ran up to the entrance; and as Spike stood, he could see whom she had joined, and his heart tightened. A younger Joyce was there, with a man Spike could only suspect was Buffy’s father, and a newborn baby in her arms._

_“Dawn,” he murmured, understanding what he was witnessing, and remained where he was, watching Buffy accept her sister into her life._

_In a blink, the scene was gone, and Spike was instead in the Magic Box. He had time to see Buffy place a book on a shelf, and again he was pulled to another place._

_It was the desert, this time. Buffy was sitting on a rock, in front of a fire. It took Spike a few seconds to realize she wasn’t staring at the fire itself, but rather at the shadowy figure that seemed to dance alongside the flames. He gave a start as he realized it was the First Slayer, their last encounter echoing instantly in his mind._

_“Death is your gift,” the Slayer said, paying Spike no mind. Buffy repeated her words questioningly, and Spike could only wonder. Was this what had happened in the desert, what Buffy had been so elusive about? His pondering remained unanswered as, again, he was back in the shop watching Buffy put a book on a shelf. She paused as she did so, her eyes lost in some internal reflection. Spike tried talking to her, but she did not react._

_Movement at the edge of his vision caught his attention, and he turned to see another Buffy walking away from him. This one was clad in black, and there was no sense of hesitation in the way she moved. He followed after, catching up with her as she entered a room._

_“Hey luv, we need to…”_

_The words caught in his throat as he saw what she was looking at. In front of them lay a grave. Joyce’s. They were in the late Summers lady’s room, he belatedly noticed, and the tombstone stood where the bed’s headboard should have been, the earth and grass around it, a mockery of a blanket._

_“I’m sorry,” he said in a soft, pained voice, and raised his hand to rest on her shoulder, only to remember at the last second Willow’s warning not to touch Buffy. She didn’t look at him as she shook her head, and kept staring instead at the tombstone._

_“Don't be,” she replied coolly. “Death is my gift.”_

_“So I heard. Care to enlighten me and explain what it means?”_

_She turned away from the grave and walked out; Spike mindlessly followed._

_“You should get it more than anyone else,” she said over her shoulder. “It's what I'm here for. It's all I am.”_

_They entered a bedroom. Dawn’s. The kid was lying on her bed, crying quietly. Buffy sat on the bed next to her._

_“All you are?” he repeated. “You’re much more than death. Much more than the Slayer.”_

_Buffy did not answer. Instead, she leaned over Dawn, and, grabbing a pillow, pressed it over Dawn’s face. Eyes wide and incredulous, Spike reached for her, and again stopped as he remembered he couldn’t touch her. He tried to remind himself that this was nothing more than an illusion, that it wasn’t really Dawn struggling on the bed, but it was impossible not to intervene._

_“Buffy! Stop it!”_

_Without letting go, she looked up at him, apparently surprised._

_“Why? I told you, it’s what I do. Death is my gift.”_

_Under Spike’s horrified eyes, Dawn stopped struggling, and she lay limp on the bed._

_The scene changed._   
_  
Back to facing a younger Buffy’s smile, Spike had to repeat to himself that it hadn’t been real, that Dawn was fine – or as fine as she could be in Glory’s hands, and he definitely had to start doing something._

_“Hi Spike,” the kid smiled at him. “What are you doing here?”_

_As before, he sat down with her. “Trying to talk to you, but it’d help if you actually listened for a minute.”_

_She giggled. “I’m listening now.”_

_“You are? Then listen to this. We need to get out of here, Buffy.”_

_“Don’t you like it here?”_

_“It’s not what matters. We don’t have time…”_

_Behind Spike, a door opened, and in a flash Buffy was gone, back to her parents and baby sister. As earlier, Spike stood and watched her. He understood the significance of the memory, but he didn’t see how it could be linked to what he had witnessed before, Buffy smothering her own sister._

_As he looked aside, another piece of the puzzle reappeared, Buffy in the shop, putting that book back on the shelf yet again. All that was missing… and there she was. The grim, black clad Buffy, walking once more toward a bedroom door._

_“Slayer!”_

_She looked back at him, head tilted._

_“You’ve got to stop doing this.”_

_“Doing what?”_

_“Killing Dawn.”_

_She frowned. “Why?”_

_“Why? Why would you? She’s your bloody sister!”_

_With a small shrug, she dismissed his words and walked to the bedroom. Grinding his teeth, Spike followed; they were back in front of the headstone._

_“Explain to me,” he requested._

_“Explain what? Death is my gift. It’s what I do.”_

_“Yeah, you keep saying that…”_

_As before, she walked away and Spike followed, but this time rather than entering Dawn’s bedroom, they were back in the Magic Box._

_“… and how about you explain this to me instead?”_

_In front of them, the other Buffy was putting the book back in place, looking pensive._

_“Why is this important? What happened here, luv?”_

_“Don’t…”_

_“No, you don’t. You stop running and hiding and tell me what the hell we’re doing here when Dawn is out there and in danger!”_

_Both Buffys looked at him._

_“Dawn is dead,” the black-clad one said._

_“I killed her,” the library-Buffy finished._

_“You did not…”_

_They took turns as they answered, and Spike looked at one, then the other._

_“Yes, I did. I quit, right here, in the shop. Just for a minute, I quit. I realized I could never beat Glory. Glory’s gonna win…”_

_“You can’t know that,” he interrupted._

_“I didn’t just know it. I felt it. Glory will beat me…”_

_Something in Spike froze at these words._

_“And in that second of knowing it, I wanted it to happen. I wanted it over. If Glory wins… Dawn dies, but so do I. And then it’s over.”_

_Both incarnations looked at Spike, both of them wearing the same sad little smile._

_“You were right, after all. I do have a death wish. And it killed Dawn.”_

_Never in his life had Spike hated so much to be told he was right about something. The hate transformed into anger though, and he glared at both Slayers in turn._

_“Your sister is not dead, Buffy. She’s out there. Probably scared out of her mind and wondering why you haven’t come to her help yet. Think you’ve carried the weight of the world on your shoulders for long enough? Fine. Call it quits. Nothing forces you to keep slaying night after night. But Dawn… she’s not just a responsibility they dumped on you. She’s a gift. She’s your real gift, Buffy, not death.”_

_“But I got Dawn killed,” she interjected quietly._

_“No, you didn’t,” he shot back. “She’s not dead. Not yet. But she will be if we stay here.”_

_“But… what if I can’t save her?”_

_“And what if you can? What if we can? You’re not alone, Buffy. I know you feel like you have to do it all by yourself, but we’re here. I’m here. By your side, each step of the way if you let me be.”_

_Both Buffys reacted the same way, reaching out to him until they each held one of his hands. Willow had warned him against that, too, but he couldn’t have cared less at that moment._

_“I do want you with me,” they whispered as one, and a wave of warmth passed through Spike._

_“Ready to go home, then, luv? Dawn’s waiting for us.”_

_He merely had time to see her nod and feel her squeeze his hands, as the illusion faded back into reality._

*****

_Wandering in Buffy’s mind was at the same time frightening and exhilarating. I had never felt closer to her than at that moment. I’d never been any more worried of losing her, too._

_I wish I could say it had given me an insight into her, a deeper understanding of how she thought, how she felt, how she loved. But in truth, that didn’t happen. We connected, yes, of course, but once she shook off her catatonic state, her mind was closed to me again. Which is good, in a way; it’d be boring, I suppose, if she held no secret for me._

_Both of us back to the real world, she shuddered, and, sobbing, slid off the chair and straight into my arms. I rocked her for a while, like you would rock a baby, and she slowly calmed down._

_By the time we arrived at the Magic Box, Buffy was completely composed. And determined. Everything in her demeanor screamed ‘Slayer’, and I have to say, despite the situation, it was really quite a turn on for me. To see her that strong, that confident, and to know I had some measure of responsibility in helping her be all she could be… oh yeah, I was damn proud of myself._

_Then Giles told us about the ritual. Red and Harris had gone to that demon I had told her about, and they’d brought back scrolls full of information. Scrolls that Giles quoted as he told us that the only way to stop the portal once it was opened by Dawn’s blood was for Dawn to die._

_You heard me right. After I had managed to convince Buffy that no, she hadn’t killed her sister by giving up on her, Giles informed her that she would have to kill her to close the portal if it opened. I couldn’t believe my ears. And judging by Buffy’s expression, neither could she._


	24. 'Til The End of the World

From where he stood near the training room’s door, Spike watched Buffy pummel the punching bag as though her life depended on it. She had been doing so for the past ten minutes, and didn’t look as if she would cease anytime soon. He understood the need to release energy and vent frustrations, certainly; but he couldn’t help feeling that, hours from a fight against a god, this might not have been the best way blow off steam. His advice however had remained unanswered, and he had since fallen silent.

In the other room, the rest of the gang was still trying to come up with more ideas about how to defeat Glory without having to lose Dawn in the process. Willow and Xander had struck gold with the demon Spike had sent them to, and although they had had to fight for it, they had brought back the text of the ritual Glory would perform. It left no doubt as to what would happen. It would all be a matter of blood, and, as Spike had told the others, it wasn’t such a surprise after all. Blood was life. It was the one thing that mattered more than anything else in the world, and he didn’t only think so because he was a vampire. It was the first time however that, as a vampire, he dreaded so much seeing someone’s blood spilled. Especially after Buffy’s repeated promise that she would die protecting Dawn rather than put an end to the apocalypse by killing her sister.

Next to Spike, the door opened and Giles stepped in. The man tried, once more, to make Buffy understand his point of view, but they all knew by now that she wouldn’t change her mind.

“You try and hurt her,” she warned coolly, “and you know I'll stop you.”

”I know,” Giles answered calmly.

The two of them walked to the sofa, and Spike observed them. Slayer and Watcher, they obviously were comfortable together, even at this time when they had completely opposite viewpoints. Buffy looked toward him and gave him a tired smile before returning her attention to Giles.

“This is how many apocalypses for us now?”

Giles took off his glasses as he thought. “Six, at least.” He sighed softy. “Feels like a hundred.”

“I've always stopped them. Always won. Until now.”

Spike shifted where he stood, uncomfortable with the turn the conversation was taking. He didn’t like being reminded how fragile Slayers were, how exposed to danger and death, especially only hours after his trek through Buffy’s subconscious.

”I was ready to sacrifice Angel to save the world.”

At her words, Spike’s eyes snapped back to her. She noticed his movement and tilted her head toward him.

“Yeah, you sent him through, not me,” she acknowledged, “but I was ready to do it.” Her voice dropped lower. “I loved him so much. But I knew ... what was right.”

Spike fought himself not to react at that. It wasn’t the time to show misplaced jealousy. She loved him, now. Not Angel.

“I don't have that any more,” she continued, still quiet. “I don't see the point. One battle after another, and even when I win, I lose bits of myself. I can’t lose the people I love, too. Not anymore.”

She stood from the sofa and came toward Spike. He remained immobile, waiting to see what she would do, and sighed in pleasure when she lightly stroked his face.

“Can’t lose you,” she murmured for his ears only, before saying, louder: “I can’t lose Dawn. Can’t lose anyone else I love. And if I do tonight, I'm done with it, Giles. I'm quitting.”

The pain he could hear in each of her words made Spike ache for her, and made him want to hold her, comfort her, lie to her and promise everything would be fine. But she pulled away from him and walked back to the shop. Before he followed her, Spike looked at Giles where he sat, shoulders slumped, on the sofa, and they shared a glance of understanding. Sometimes, hard decision had to be made for those who couldn’t make them.

*****

The house was empty, of course, and as she stepped in, Buffy tried not to think about it, tried not to remember _why_ it was empty. Dawn would be fine. She had to be. Whatever the cost.

She climbed two steps before realizing that Spike had stopped at the foot of the staircase. She turned back to him, and whatever she had been about to say vanished from her mind as she noticed the calm look on his features. Resolve. The same determination and support he had showed when convincing her she hadn’t killed her sister. She wasn’t the only one ready to pay the ultimate price to save Dawn, and she was grateful to him, more than she could express. Yet, it remained her fight even if she accepted his help, and she needed him to understand that.

“We’re not all gonna make it,” she started, and faltered when he smiled softly.

“I know. Always knew I’d go down fighting.”

It wasn’t what she meant, but she didn’t know how to tell him that she might be the one who would die that night. She took a step down, coming closer to him, and cupped his face in her hand.

“You offered your help,” she murmured. “And now I’m counting on it. On you. To protect her.”

He smiled, and shifted his face briefly against her hand to kiss her palm.

“’Til the end of the world,” he said, solemn. “Even if that happens to be tonight.”

She wondered, then, about what he had said to her earlier, when he had come inside her mind. Had he truly meant his words when he had told her she could beat Glory? Or had it only been wishful thinking, uttered aloud merely so that she would snap out of her shock?

She shook the thought off; he believed in her, as she believed in him. They would do their best to save Dawn, and there wasn’t anything more anyone could ask from them. Maybe the world would end that night, maybe one of them would die, but at least they would have done all they could.

“I’ll grab the weapons,” he broke the silence after a few seconds. “Why don’t you…”

Sliding her fingers over his face to cover his lips, she shushed him. Then, without a word, she dropped her hand to his, held it tight, and pulled him up the stairs after her. If the world was about to end, she wanted at least one last night with the man she loved.

*****

Later that night, Spike would have given the world to still be with Buffy. His mind, his body still hummed from her touch, and he almost physically ached to join her. They had had to make it quick, and they were both too wound up to make it anything but frantic; but their lovemaking had given him, in the same instant, the peace that came with the assurance of her love, and the nagging feeling that it had been a goodbye.

But rather than joining her as he wanted to, he was hiding with Giles, Anya, and Xander from demented humans he couldn’t fight and a handful of Glory’s minions that were more resistant than their size could have led anyone to suppose. He was hiding and keeping an eye on the main fight, or what he could see of it. So far, it seemed to be a tie, with neither Buffy nor Glory getting down. As long as it prevented Glory from reaching Dawn in time, though, that was good enough.

“Hey look up! Is there someone up there with Dawn?”

Startled by Xander’s words, Spike looked up, cursing himself for not having kept an eye on Dawn. There was indeed someone up there on the platform, and that flash of reflected light looked sickeningly like a blade.

“We’ve gotta charge or something,” Xander continued urgently, and Anya reminded him that they had tried that already. Spike wasn’t listening to them, though. He was listening instead to Willow’s voice, loud and clear in his head, urging him to go on and help Dawn. He eyed the human crowd standing between him and the tower warily, but as the disembodied voice insisted, he ran toward the staircase. The humans flew away from him as he approached, clearly affected by magic. He didn’t stop to ponder or thank Willow, wherever she was, and only ran faster.

****

_They didn’t have time to lose, Spike knew it, and still he didn’t resist as Buffy pulled him up the steps and into her room. They didn’t talk; they didn’t need to. In seconds, they had divested each other, and he pushed her onto the bed, covering her body with his as he stroked, kissed, and nipped everywhere he could. After everything they had said over the last few hours, he was all too aware that this might be his last chance to be with her, and as a result, he wanted to touch every inch of her, burn the feel of her flesh in his mind, and the memory of his touch in hers._

_She wasn’t passive under him, far from it, and gripped at his shoulders as he mercilessly teased her nipples with his tongue and teeth, digging her nails in deep in delicious prick points of pain. She also arched her body toward him, accentuating the contact and making him groan when his cock, hard and needy, brushed against her rough curls and the growing wetness there._

_He wished he could have pushed the moment of their union back as far as possible, because once it started, they would be that much closer to being finished; there would be no repeats this time. But Buffy didn’t leave him a choice. Capturing his hands and locking her legs around him, she twisted their bodies on the bed in one powerful move. The next second, she was slamming down on his cock, forcing him all the way in with one hard thrust, and Spike howled. Without missing a beat, she rode him hard, hands pressed to his chest to hold her balance. He gripped her hips tightly, tight enough to leave bruises, tight enough that the chip sent a warning through his head, but he couldn’t have cared less. She was his. His to fuck, his to mark, his to love, and even the end of the world would not change that.  
_

*****

The instant he finally reached the top of the tower and stepped on the platform, Spike knew. He knew he was too late. He could smell blood, hanging in the air like the grim and heavy shadow of the coming apocalypse, and he knew, without a hint of doubt, that it was Dawn’s. He could hear her sobbing as he approached, and he heard her, also, cry out his name, but he tried, as hard as it was, to ignore her. A demon was standing between Dawn and him, and her pleas for help had alerted him to Spike’s presence. He turned away from her and toward Spike slowly, grinning. He had a knife in his hand, the long blade covered in blood. Spike shifted to game face without a second thought.

“Get away from her,” he growled, and advanced along the platform.

“Oh, of course,” the demon answered pleasantly. “I am done with her, now, anyway. Shallow cuts to open the portal. It just wouldn’t do to let her die too fast, now, would it?”

A loud noise rose from under them, and it sounded as though the fabric of the universe itself was being torn apart. Spike dared a glance down, and he could see it, this portal through the dimensions that might cause chaos and destruction. No, not might cause. Would cause. Was causing, already, if Spike was to judge by the flashes of light and shadows he could see.

“Get away from her,” he repeated, and stepped closer still to the demon.

“So that you can kill her and close the portal?” the demon hissed. “No, I don’t think so. Not after I’ve waited so long.”

His tongue shot out, coming straight toward Spike’s face, and, startled, Spike took a step back.

“Why do you even care?” the demon asked idly. “You don’t have a soul…” He sniffed the air before adding, a frown pulling at his brow: “Do you?”

“Don’t need one,” Spike growled. “Not as long as I have her.”

“Too bad she’s about to die, then. But don’t worry, so are you.”

The knife flashed toward him, and, his movements restricted by the narrowness of the platform, Spike couldn’t avoid it completely. It slashed at his side, and pain lanced through his body. He didn’t let it stop him, though, and counteracted immediately, grabbing the demon’s still extended arm and flinging the creature over the edge. He shouted as he fell down, but his cries were drowned in the noise coming from the portal.

Wincing, Spike pressed a hand to his side, checking that the wound wasn’t severe. He then took a couple of steps toward Dawn. Her eyes were wide and filled with tears. It took him a few seconds to realize that it was fear he could see on her face. Fear of him. Fear that, as the demon had said, as Giles had admonished, he would kill her to close the portal her blood had opened.

Feeling colder than he had ever felt before, he reached for the ropes that held her captive.

*****

_The thought came to Buffy as her body was tensing for release, as she could feel Spike under her holding back his own orgasm until she was ready. This was not what she had had in mind when she had taken him to her room; and in all honesty, she hadn’t thought about it since they had talked about it, months earlier, before everything started going to hell. But now that the idea had come to her, Buffy knew that it was the perfect time for it. After all, odds were, it was now or never._

_With some difficulty – God, but she wanted to come! – she stilled her movements. Spike groaned his displeasure and tried to arch up toward her, but she squeezed her thighs to get his attention. His eyes were maelstroms of blue and gold._

_“I want to be your mate,” she said bluntly, struggling for breath. “Do you want me?”_

_His blink and instant, complete stillness told her all too clearly that he had heard her, but his face didn’t reveal what he thought of her offer. Dropping her eyes, she bit down her bottom lip, already cursing herself. How presumptuous of her to think he would want to mate with her when he had said he had never even thought about it after a century with Drusilla…_

_“God, luv…”_

_The catch in his voice gave her hope, and she looked at him again._

_“I…I’d never have thought…I’d never have hoped…”_

_A small, hesitant smile tugged at his lips._

_“You really want to?” he whispered, and Buffy started breathing again._

_“I do.”_

_The symbolism of these two words wasn’t lost on him, on either of them, and they reached for each other’s lips at the same instant and shared a simple but so sweet kiss. In the same movement, Spike rolled them over and started moving in her again, slow, deep thrusts of his hips that revived the fire inside Buffy’s mind and body._

_“I wish so much we could, luv,” he mumbled as he peppered her face with soft kisses. “But the chip…”_

_“But you wouldn’t… you wouldn’t do it to hurt me,” she pleaded. “Just like when we spar. Please…”_

_She wasn’t sure anymore if she was pleading for him to make her come or to mate with her._

_“Please, can we… can we try? I want to be yours when I fight Glory. I want to know you’re mine.”_

_“Always, luv. Always.”_

_His eyes locked to hers and he shifted to his demon visage; Buffy had the fleeting thought that he had never been so beautiful._

_The pace of his thrusting intensified, and she struggled to meet him and accentuate the sensations._

_“Know what to do?” he asked, almost growling._

_She nodded. It had been months, but what she had read about the mating ritual was still fresh in her mind. “You promise,” she panted. “And then we bite together, and we drink, and I promise, and…”_

_She groaned and closed her eyes; one more thrust, one more push of his body against her throbbing clit, one more slide of his cock against that sweet spot…_

_“Mates,” he whispered. “Until the end of the world. Be it in a thousand years or tonight.”_

_His mouth on her neck, hers on his. Fangs on one side, blunt teeth on the other. In the same instant, they bit down. She barely felt any pain; rather, the sensation of having him in her like this accentuated the sensation of his cock pressing into her; and if she had been able to form a coherent thought, Buffy would have known that Spike only shuddered against her because of the orgasm ripping through him, through both of them, not because of the chip._

_She had to bite hard to reach his blood, but she soon could feel it rolling on her tongue, thick and sweeter than she would have thought. She swallowed, and her mind filled with images and feelings, the Slayer in her reawakening and crying for more of him. Spike had retracted his fangs and he wasn’t pulling on her blood anymore, merely licking at the fresh punctures that marked the once virgin side of her neck. It was her turn to speak. To promise. The words themselves didn’t matter, the book had said, only the intent. She had rarely meant anything with more conviction._

_“Mates. Because you give me the strength I need to carry on.”_

__

*****

Nothing had ever been so clear. As he untied Dawn with hands red from his own blood, he could see, could smell, could almost taste on his tongue her blood, and the power of it as it trickled down to add to the portal below them. She sobbed when he forcibly pulled her back from the end of the platform, muttering under her breath that only her death would stop the worlds from melding into chaos.

“Dawn!” he shook her as she tried to free herself from his grip. “Snap out of it. We don’t have time for this.”

She stared at him, tears streaming down her cheeks. He ran a hand through her hair and smiled at her what he hoped was a reassuring smile.

“Need you to do something for me, Bit. Just a few words for Buffy. Can you do that?”

She nodded numbly, her eyes going from him to the portal he knew was now raging behind his back. He could feel the energy in the air, could feel it gathering strength. He had to hurry.

“Just tell her… tell her I love her, alright? Tell her these few months with her were heaven for me even when we fought. Tell her there’s a life in front of her, and I’m doing this so that she’ll live it. And enjoy it. Like she should.”

He could see that Dawn was starting to understand, and he placed a finger across her lips to shush any protests before they could emerge.

“Loved the both of you,” he said, his throat tightening. “And I always will.”

He pressed a kiss to her forehead, part of him wishing that he had been able to say goodbye to Buffy in person, and another part glad that she wasn’t there because he just knew she would never have let him do this. Letting go of Dawn, he turned to face the end of the platform. The sun was just beginning to peek on the horizon; fitting that this would happen at sunrise. To prevent himself from thinking – and, maybe, faltering – he ran to the end of the platform.

And, wishing there was enough of Buffy’s blood in him to make his gift to her worthy, he jumped.


	25. 'Til The End of the World - coda

The sun was slowly reaching its zenith, and the heat was smothering. The summer had barely started but already it promised to be hotter than the previous year. Even at night, the temperatures were often unbearable, and Buffy was glad she wasn’t patrolling anymore.

She justified it to herself with the observation that, after hearing that the Slayer had defeated a goddess, demons seemed less inclined to come to the Hellmouth. She couldn’t manage to feel guilty about it. Especially since, almost every night, Giles or the gang would take that damn bot out and do her patrols for her.

Eyes closed and with her back leaning against the familiar slab of marble, Buffy didn’t really mind the heat and sun as she talked to her mother about the recent events. She hadn’t had much time to come and pay her respects while Glory was around, and she felt bad about it. There was a lot she had to say, and remembering it all at once made the pain of her mother’s passing hurt as much as it had during the first few days. Joyce certainly deserved these moments; there had been too much going on for Buffy to really allow herself to mourn before, but now she could, and did.

When the wind stirred and caressed her forehead, dried her tears, she could almost imagine it was her mother’s hand chasing away her fears and sorrow. Everything would be fine, she could almost hear Joyce murmur. Time would make everything better. Buffy wished she could still believe it.

She remained by the grave until nightfall, falling silent long before that but unwilling to leave quite yet. When the sun finally vanished behind the horizon, she rose, straightened her clothes, and went to Spike.

*****

_It was one of the most important battles of my life, and I don’t remember much of it. I remember fighting Glory, of course, bits and flashes of it. I remember beating her. I remember that feeling of… peace that it was finally over. Then, I rushed up the steps to join Dawn on the platform._

_I reached the top of the tower in time to see him run and jump. I stared but didn’t move toward him; I was too far. I didn’t say anything either, didn’t call his name or my love for him._

_I wish I had._

_Would he have stopped, if I had? Or looked back? Smiled at me, maybe? I wish I had seen his smile one more time._

_There was a surreal stillness in the air for a few seconds, and then it was clear that the door had closed. All the noise, all the flashes of light ceased. I took Dawn in my arms and carried her down to the ground, all the while repeating to myself that he would be fine, that he was a vamp and no fall, not even that bad, could kill him. I would get to play nurse to him, and that would be nice. And I’d get to thank him properly – and many times – for saving Dawn, and all of us._

_He seemed asleep when I reached the foot of the tower. I made sure Dawn was OK, put her down and rushed to where he lay, sprawled across broken concrete. Asleep, or maybe unconscious. Beautiful despite the hint of blood at the corner of his mouth. I was already telling myself that I would need to be careful, because he had probably broken more than one bone from the fall. The simple fact that he was there, though, was heartwarming. Vampires who die their final death turn to dust. Their bodies don’t remain whole._

_I called his name softly as I leaned over him and brushed a strand of hair off his face._

_He crumbled to ashes under my touch._

_I remember not believing what I saw; his clothes remained intact, but his body eroded as if in slow motion. I remember the numbness that spread through me. I remember feeling more alone than ever before, even though Dawn, Giles, my friends were all around me._

_I remember also that this bond between us, our mating, so fresh still that I was in awe of it, of how close to Spike it had made me feel, slowly vanished, and left me empty and cold._

_They told me I fell to my knees. They told me I yelled at him, wherever he was, cursed him for abandoning me, until they took me away. They told me I begged them hysterically not to leave him there because the sun was about to rise and it would burn him if we left him – his ashes – there. I don’t remember any of that._

_I cried and slept the day away. The next morning, after sunrise, we buried him. Giles chose a small clearing in the woods, said that no one would bother him there, that he deserved an undisturbed rest at last. He had placed his ashes in a wooden box engraved with leaves and vines. It struck me as odd at the time that a Watcher would put so much care into giving a proper resting place to a vampire. I asked him, later, why he had done it. His eyes were grim as he said that he would always be thankful to him for saving Dawn and me._

_They all said a few words as a goodbye. They all did, but I have no memory of what any of them said. As for myself, I couldn’t speak. Not then. Later, I did. After time had passed, when I came back alone, I was able to. I still do it, sometimes. Often. Go to his grave, lean against the marker, imagine it’s him behind me, not a cold stone, and I talk to him. I do the same thing with mom. Her in the day, and him at night._

_It still feels so unreal that he’s gone for good. He was a vampire. He was immortal. He was my mate. He wasn’t supposed to leave me. Not so soon, not like this. Not ever._

_I requested – and they gave me – his duster. At first I kept it on a coat hanger on the back of my door, but it was soon too painful to see it constantly, it reminded me too much that he was gone for good. I finally folded it carefully and tucked it in my slaying chest, with my weapons. Every so often, I open it and give a small stroke to the leather, and try to be thankful for what he did. It’s hard, sometimes, but I try. It helps knowing that I’m not alone, that I’m not the only one missing him._

_After three days – three sorrowful, interminable, lonely days – I took a bus to LA._

_As soon as I stepped into the Hyperion, Angel knew. He was smiling as he first looked up at me, but something must have shown on my face because his smile disappeared as he approached me. He said his name, quietly, questioningly. I tried to tell him what had happened, but no words came out of my throat, only dry sobs. He hugged me, whispered words of sadness, of comfort, of apology, but nothing helped, because nothing was going to bring him back. That’s when it struck me; he was really gone – and he wouldn’t be back._

_I eventually calmed down enough to tell Angel what had happened. His eyes were shining as I finished, even though I never saw him shed a tear. Somehow, it was comforting not to be alone in my grief, and the ride back to Sunnydale was a little easier._

_Only then did I realize that the gang was mourning him too, I had just been too blinded by my own tears to see it. I should have known, of course. They truly had accepted him, he was a part of us, and…they missed him too. Not like I do, no one can miss him like I do, but enough that I didn’t feel so alone anymore. I had to be strong, for them, and especially for Dawn who felt the weight of guilt even more acutely than I did. It took her a few more days to finally be able to give me his last words. I forced myself to smile as she did, put up a good front. Then spent the night on his grave, crying._

_He died for me. Because of me. He died to save me from my death wish, and he died because I suggested that we become mates. I lost him by my own fault. And no amount of tears can erase that simple fact._

_I know I cry too much. Even now, after weeks and months have passed, I still do. I just can’t help it. I miss him, his presence, his smile, our arguments, our making up, the incredible strength that he was sharing with me, with anyone who cared enough to see past the surface of who he was. I try not to let the others see me cry; but of course, they know something is going on with me, even if they say nothing, and they’re worried. They shouldn’t be. I’m not going to do anything stupid. That would be an insult to his memory if I did. He died so that I could live, so live, I will, even if every day, every minute feels like my heart is being ripped out. I thought it would get better with time, but it has been a hundred days already, the reason for me writing this, and nothing has changed._

_The one word engraved under his name on the grave is still true._

_Spike was loved. He is, even now. He will be, until the end of the world._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> series to be concluded in Secret Hell


End file.
